


It's the Same Way You Showed Me.

by cherrybomb14



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2019-08-26 22:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16690309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrybomb14/pseuds/cherrybomb14
Summary: It's been a while since Ian & Mickey have been out of jail. Finally together and free, the couple tries to juggle full time jobs, a new house, costly expenses and the duties of daily living. The two couldn't be more opposite: Mickey has gained ownership of the Fairytale while Ian copes with the stress of being a youth counselor for troubled teens. Boring? Not a chance. The love and passion between these two keeps the fire roaring, but a few surprises shock them along the way. With their family growing unexpectedly and life's pressuring responsibilities increasing, there's never a dull moment. The two get a dose of reality and learn what's it like to finally be in a real relationship outside of the cell.





	1. The Day to Day.

"You're gonna be late!" Mickey shouted from the living room.

He was hassling Ian's tardiness again. He was trying to hustle, running from room to room looking for some clothes to throw on but there was barely anything clean. He tried his best to keep the laundry buildup under control but it was difficult when they were both constantly working. After some more rummaging he finally came across a grey shirt laying solo in the hallway. He gave it a quick wiff and shrugged in satisfaction. Good enough. He threw it over his pale back, stretching his lengthy but chiseled arms out of the holes.

"No I'm not!" He shouted back down the hall. He began looking for socks but realized finding pants was more of a priority. "Did you wash my jeans last night?!"

He bolted to the washer, opened the lid and began shuffling through a load of only drenched towels. Just as he pulled open the dryer door Mickey responded.

"In the dryer dear!" His sarcasm echoed off the walls. Ian chuckled. He had the ability to make him laugh even when they were in different rooms.

He reached for a pair of faded Levis, shaking them out to smooth any leftover wrinkles. He slipped them on, buttoning the top and remembering he needed his belt or he was going to have a hell of a day keeping his pants up. He darted into the living room, his eyeballs shifting in every which direction for it. He looked on the dining room table, then the couch, under the couch...

"Have you seen my-"

Before he could even get his words out a long strip of leather was wagging in his face. The buckle jingled.

He sighed in relief. "Thanks, baby." He grabbed the belt from Mickey's hands, studying him before sliding it through his jean's loops. 

He was standing over the coffee table staring pensively at a piece of mail while flipping a pocket knife in his left hand, the blade flashing reflectively in the sunlight coming in through the living room window.

It was the one Ian had given to him as a gift soon after he was released from prison. It was jet black with silver plating on the sides and the blade itself had an oil slick pattern which Mickey loved. It was unique and Ian had spent a pretty penny getting it custom made to his likings. The handle was engraved in a calligraphic font.

_I waited. 3-13-2022_

Eight months after Ian was released, Mickey was next, and it was the first day they started their lives together. Their first official day of no longer being imprisoned criminals together. It was a pivotal moment in their relationship so Ian figured it was a proper date to remember. Being out into the world was uncomfortable for those eight months, especially without Mickey by his side, but he tried his best to hold the fort down and create a stable living situation for him to come home to. He made as much money as he could, working like a dog and putting all his earning into savings. He faithfully visited Mickey every week, helping him with prison expenses and being there for him every step of the way. 

He made the commitment and kept his promise. He waited.

"Can you believe this shit?" Mickey began, now itching the back of his neck with the blade. "800 bucks for a fucking one night sub-in DJ? Julian doesn't even make this much in a week." He was in disbelief. He grabbed the piece of mail off the table, flailing it in the air until he practically shoved it in Ian's face.

Ian's eyes fluttered as the paper was inches from his nose. It was most definitely a bill, which he studied closely. "Julian told me he makes 4000 a month." Ian stated, clearly confused as he read the invoice total. $787.64.

Mickey laughed forcefully, tilting his head back in amusement. "Ha! He fuckin wishes! Not even close. Trust me, I sign his fuckin checks."

It was true; Mickey did sign his checks. Ever since he took over management of the Fairytale he knew exactly what all of his employees took home at the end of the week.

The last six months had been stressful, but Ian wouldn't ever trade them. He and Mickey were living together in complete harmony, and even though things were chaotic, he still loved every waking second of it. Mickey had some investments and side deals going on with a few gangs in Chicago before he got out of the slammer so finances weren't bad for a while, but after he was officially released Ian made him swear he wouldn't get involved in anymore shady bargains. He remembered running around town being some type of middle man for Mickey, risking his own record to make ends meet but as soon as he was by his side again, all bets were off. There was no more risky business. Since then, funds had been tight. Mickey only had ownership of the Fairytale for about three months and they were doing okay, but living in a three bedroom flat in the heart of the city was a killer on their bank account. Mickey had some cash stashed somewhere in the apartment from unknown sources but Ian didn't ask too many questions. There were a few fire arms and other weapons scattered randomly in undisclosed hiding spots which Ian wasn't pleased with, but he knew how it went: You can take the thug out of the Southside but you can't take the Southside out of the thug.

"This is the second time he's been sick in the last two weeks. I'm over it. He calls one more time, he's cut. Period." He looked flustered but he was serious. Mickey was an excellent business man but still needed to learn the ins and outs of managing a staff. "Making me lose good money..." He took the bill back from Ian, adding it to one of the humongous piles on the dining table.

Bills, bills and more bills. They were practically swimming in them.

"You can't just fire him because he's sick." Ian defended. "And you need a DJ."

"The fuck I can't! My club." Mickey replied. "Cody can DJ. I'll take him off lighting and put him on the spin table."

Ian smirked, shaking his head. "Cody can't DJ." He walked back down the hallway and into the bathroom as he felt Mickey's footsteps following close behind him.

"Bullshit. He told me the other night at the Alibi before his shift." Mickey leaned on the doorframe, crossing his arms as if he was going to be there for awhile.

Ian fixed his thick red locks in the mirror making sure they were somewhat tamed before turning back to Mickey, placing his hands on his shoulders. "Cody is 37, pops Benzos, makes rap singles in his mom's basement and kisses your ass because he wants a raise. There's a difference." Ian pulled out his phone, glancing at the time. "Shit. I'm gonna be late."

"Fuckin told you." He said sternly, attempting to hide a smile but it crept on his face anyway. "You ready?" He licked his lips, staring him down like he was hungry.

"Oh I'm ready." Ian spoke in a sultry tone, grabbing Mickey's hips and automatically pulling them forward, thrusting into him.

"Ah ah ah." Mickey said, moving his neck away to stop Ian from kissing the side of it. Ian laughed to himself knowing if he continued, Mickey wouldn't be able to hold back. "That's why you were late last time. Plenty of time for fucking later, babe." He whipped around making his way back down the hallway. "And your zippers down." He added before turning the corner. 

Ian sighed in defeat, zipping his jeans tactfully to avoid scathing his now hard dick in the midst of it. 

The only time Mickey ever played by the rules is when Ian had a therapy appointment.

*****

Ian's therapist's office was only about ten minutes away but living in the heart of the city meant guessing traffic time was like playing a game of Russian Roulette. Even though Mickey drove like a bat out of hell, he still got them to their destination much sooner than Ian anticipated. He had bought a used 2019 Acura at the beginning of the year. A beautiful, sleep black car that was fast as a whip. Ian loved driving it but on Tuesdays, their schedules clashed. With Ian having to make it to work directly after his appointment and Mickey having to be at the club by three. He usually got in at 5am on Tuesday mornings but still drove Ian to therapy every single week.

He was gripping onto the handle above the passenger's seat, tensing up every time Mickey got uncomfortably close to another car. They finally arrived, Ian unbuckling his seat belt and turning towards him. He had a pair of white framed sunglasses on, an expensive pair which Ian had helped him pick out a few weeks back.

"I forgot to tell you." He said suddenly remembering a thought. "Carla and I are talking about lowering my Risperdal dose." He grabbed his backpack from the floorboard and zipped up his thick winter jacket. Winter was on the rise in Chicago.

"Lower it? Why?" Mickey asked. The concern in his tone was sudden as he pushed the glasses to sit on top of his forehead.

"It's strong. I've been on it for a few months and I don't need such a high dose." Ian said simply. He thought it was a conversation that wouldn't spark up too much questioning but Mickey was ready for answers.

"So what does that mean?" He had his hand over the back of Ian's headrest.

"It doesn't really mean anything. It just means I don't need to be taking 60 milligrams of a medication we pay 83 bucks for that I don't need so much of. And it dries my mouth out so bad... I go through like, a gallon of water a day and my mouth still feels like the Sahara desert. Carla said lowering it slightly will help. The Seroquel is plenty." He looked at the clock on the car's digital screen. He was three minutes late.

Mickey began to speak, his words choppy and abrupt. He always got a little panicky when they discussed his medications. "I don't get it. If it's not broke don't fuckin fix it. You've been fine all this time... Why change it now?' He asked. He was staring at the clock now, too. "We'll talk about it later. I don't want to keep you. You gotta go."

"Alright. I love you." Ian leaned in for a kiss, pulling in and feeling the softness of his lips against his own. It still gave him a rush that left him lightheaded and dizzy, a feeling he never got tired of. He placed his hand on his face, stroking it amorously before breaking away even though he didn't want to. Small, satisfying hums escaped from Mickey's mouth.

"I love you, too." He said back. "I'll see you at work tonight?" He asked, meeting his eyes and waiting for an answer.

"I'll be there."

Ian gave him one more smile before stepping out of the car and shutting the door. Mickey didn't drive away. He never did. Not until Ian was inside of the building completely.

*****

Ian checked in with the receptionist and took a seat in the spacious lobby, leaning his head back on the wall. A rushing sound of water filled the room. The small Japanese water fountain was trickling in a constant, subtle flow. The sound was harmonizing and he took a deep breath trying to release any unwanted tension he had before entering his session. He learned in prison that it was best to clear your mind and become an open book before these moments, as being anxious and overwhelmed made it harder to convey your feelings. He stared across the room at the odd, abstract art hanging on the wall. It was nothing but a series of circles that over-lapped each other, some more elevated than others to make the portrait look 3D. The room smelled of Chamomile and fresh paint. He sat there for only few seconds before Carla opened the door to her office. She greeted him with a warm and welcoming smile. Like Ian, she also had red hair though hers was long, curly and always styled differently. Today she had it in a low ponytail off to the side with a dark green scrunchy holding it in place. She was in a lengthy olive green dress that complimented her shape nicely, her purple beaded earrings reminding Ian of the art on the wall.

"Hello, Ian." She said quietly. She always spoke so soft. "How have you been?"

He smiled back at her, nodding shyly. "I've been good."

He walked into her office as she held the door open. He felt silly not holding the door open for a woman but she always did this and he went along with it. Her office was the same it had always been: neat, organized and perfectly pristine. The room was small and enclosed but very quaint. There was a black leather love seat where Ian always sat on the right side of, across from him a red recliner where Carla joined him. Behind her seat was a tiny desk with an IMAC laptop, usually closed, and a small bookcase beyond it. There was only one book turned on display for most of her clients to see.

_The Power of Now._

He was always too far away to read the sub-header at the bottom of the title.

She had a tall fern in the corner of the room which had grown considerably since Ian's first session nearly a year ago. The artwork upon the walls were not as abstract as the ones in the waiting room. These ones were more somber looking, like a mess of water color brushstrokes.

She sat in her red seat with her yellow notepad. She always had that yellow notepad. In the top corner it read _Ian Gallagher_ in tiny cursive.

She was still smiling sweetly, a smile that made Ian instantly feel relaxed. 

"So," She began as she flipped open to the last few pages of the notebook. It was almost filled. "Last week we talked about some of the hardships of your job and reminding yourself to try and leave the heaviness of other's problems at the door." She recapped. She looked down at her notebook briefly, talking with her hands as a pen was in between her fingers.

He nodded again. 

"How's that going? Better?" She asked, her eyes peaking over her round glass frames.

"It's going good. I feel like I've really been trying to remember that I can't let the kid's issues control my life. I love what I do and I love helping these kids but I have to try not to get too invested and let it make such an impact on me. It's hard, though." He said as his mind began wandering to all the instances of kids being abandoned by their parents, leaving them for drugs much like Monica and Frank did to him and his siblings. He tried to focus.

"It is hard. It's extremely hard." She agreed. She was nodding her head up and down slowly. "I'm switching gears a little bit but I know we've talked a lot about your relationship with Mickey, in detail. Is he supportive of your job and what you do for the kids?" 

Ian answered right away. "Oh yeah. Real supportive. He thinks it helps me, and it does, but sometimes he gets a little worried, you know. That I'm going to get triggered by something or see some things that upset me. He just worries about me and my wellbeing. All the time."

She was still nodding slowly, almost harmonically as she never increased or decreased the pace of it. "Right. Is it comforting to have someone worry about you?" She began jotting down words onto the notepad now.

"It is. He loves me so much. He knows that therapy is good for me, I mean he pays for it, but I don't think he really understands the realm of it. I don't know if he really..." He searched for the word. "Comprehends what I talk about and how it works for me."

"Sure. Sure." She said. "You've said before that, much like you, Mickey didn't have the best childhood."

He began shaking his head. "No, not at all. In fact mine was a cake walk compared to his."

"So, Mickey has never seen a therapist?" She asked.

He thought about it for a minute before fully answering that question. "He hasn't. When we were in prison we did group sessions with jail counselors and stuff but that wasn't really one on one, you know?"

She agreed. "It's not, but it's a step in the right direction." Ian could tell she was finishing a sentence as she dotted a period on the paper. "What do you think about Mickey coming for a few appointments? Do you think that's something he would be interested in?"

Ian's mind was really turning now. Mickey talking to a therapist? He never thought he would see the day. Then again he never thought he would lead a Gay Jesus cult only to end up in prison with his lover. The last few years had been full of surprises.

"I mean..." His mind still processed these thoughts as he was trying to find an answer. "Maybe. I could talk it over with him."

She smiled again. "That would be great. I think you guys would really benefit from couples therapy. From what you've told me the both of you have been through a lot of turmoil and trauma over the years. And prison only added to that. If he's not ready for that, that's okay though. You and I don't have to change anything." She smiled again. "Now," She was glancing down at the notebook. "You're both out in the world trying to function and be content and coexist together again. That can be very pressuring."

Ian was thinking again, picturing Mickey in that love seat next to him, pouring his heart out about his past experiences. He knew that was easier said than done but maybe Carla was right. Mickey was wound so tight and dealing with the reality of the world straight after prison...

But would Mickey go for that?

*****

After his appointment concluded, Ian made his way down the city blocks to work which was only about seven minutes away on foot. He always walked away from therapy feeling relieved and reassured but those feelings would most likely wear off a few moments after walking into work. He walked with his hands in his jacket pockets the entire time. The sun was out but it was a cold day in the city. He finally arrived to his building, pulling out his badge from his backpack at the staff entrance. He placed it under the red glowing strip, glancing his down at his awkward I.D picture he despised.

The Haven Group - Youth Outreach Services  
Ian Gallagher #7520

_Beeeeep_

The large metal door made a loud clicking noise as he pulled it open and he entered. He began walking down the brightly lit hallway to the crew room where he saw a spill of coffee being mopped up from the floor.

"Morning, Bruce." Ian smiled at the janitor giving him a quick salute. He stopped mopping and looked up, mirroring his smile when he noticed Ian's greeting. 

"Good morning, Mr.Ian." He went back to mopping.

He finally made it to the crew room, bolting to the coffee pot without hesitation. He was going to need it, especially when his day wouldn't be over for another 12 hours. He grabbed a styrofoam cup and poured a hefty amount, just to the brim. He put it to his lips and began chugging it, feeling the hot liquid flow down his throat. It was the perfect remedy for this freezing weather. He thought of Mickey in that moment, how he put about seven sugars and nine creams in his coffee. He smiled. He loved that man. 

_Da-ding_

His phone chimed. He pulled it out of his pocket to see a notification: a text message from _Mick._

_Thinking about you._

Ian giggled. This always happened. Something in the world would remind him of Mickey and within seconds his phone would go off. He started typing back.

 _Can't wait to see you._ He clicked send. 

He finished off another half cup of coffee before he realized he was again, about three minutes late. He made his way out of the room and back down the hallway. On the opposite side there was another smaller, more narrow hallway that led to only room. He inhaled, taking a deep breath before making an official entrance. He opened the door slowly to see all of his five of his kids already seated in a tight circle. 

Great.

He approached his desk where he took off his coat and threw it on the back of the rolling office chair. Before he could even turn around he heard Tosha's voice. "You're late, Gay Jesus." 

Muffled snickers erupted.

He sighed again, turning around and walking to the front of the desk. He leaned on it, crossing his arms and facing his audience.

"Alright guys, It's Tuesday. it's early. How was everyone's weekend?"

There was monumental silence until they all spoke in a humming groan. "Goood."

"Good. Okay, so we're gonna go around the room like we always do and share our weekend so far and we'll kind of talk about what's going on in our lives. Don't hold anything back. The good, the bad and the ugly. Let's start counterclockwise with Chad, ending with Melanie. So, Chad. Go ahead. You first."

Chad looked half asleep. His eyes were red blood red. Ian knew what this meant.

"Chad?" He questioned. "Wake up, bud." He clapped his hands together directly in front of his face. He jumped, clearing his throat and flipping his curly matted hair out of his face. 

"Last night my mom caught me smoking in my room. She flushed all my weed down the toilet and made me watch. That's it." He coughed after his sentence, a guttering hack that made Ian strain in discomfort. 

"I bet that made you pretty angry." He said, squinting his eyes and focusing in on him, making sure he had his undivided attention. 

"She's a bitch. I'm staying at Justin's house and I'm not going back. Ever." He flipped his hair again. 

"I think it's good for you to take a break and blow off some steam, but you are going to have to talk to your mom and go back home eventually. She'll be worried."

Chad laughed. "Yeah right. Would you go back?"

Ian was thrown off by this question. 

_I wouldn't have had to leave. Monica and Frank would have just smoked it with me. Or stole it for themselves._

"Yes," He assured him. "I would go back." 

Chad didn't seem like he wanted to talk anymore. He mumbled something quietly as he looked the other way, breaking eye contact with Ian and pretending he no longer existed. The next in line was Tosha as Ian braced himself. She was his most challenging, difficult kid Ian had in any of his groups. Blunt, opinionated, outspoken and sharp as could be, she never went down without a fight. He had five different group sessions a day equaling out to 22 kids. 22 different kids of different ages who were all in group therapy ordered by the court or their schools, all going through hardships in different homes. Tosha is one who had always stood out to him. She was a firecracker, didn't take anyone's shit, and never compromised. She had a hard exterior and reminded Ian of a young, female version of his Mickey. She was one hard nut to crack.

"Tosha," Ian said sweetly. "Welcome. How was your weekend?"

She was fiddling with a strip of her dark black hair, biting her lip and looking especially nervous. Her green eyes circled with eyeliner and her V-neck shirt revealing her chest tattoo, a badly done sentence in cursive. _Well behaved women rarely make history._ Ian always wondered how she acquired the ink but it was inappropriate to ask his students anything of that nature. 

There was total silence. "Tosha?" He repeated.

"Yeah, yeah I heard you." She rolled her eyes, flipping her lengthy hair behind her. She sighed, directing her eyes towards Ian. "Got in a fight with my sister. Fucked her up pretty good but she went to Juvi, not me, so I guess that's pretty sweet." She sniffed. She reached in her bag and grabbed a Snickers bar, opening it and taking an oversized bite. She dropped a pack of cigarettes out of her bag.

"What does your mom think about it?"

Ian nearly cringed at the thought of Tosha's mother who he had the displeasure of meeting on a few separate occasions. He had a perfect visualization of her in his head: an angry, miserable haggard woman who smoked too many cigarettes and always smelled of Scotch. She wore a long, dark brown petticoat and had thick coke bottle lensed glasses. She was about as pleasant to talk to than she was to look at. The only reason she had Tosha enrolled in Youth counseling was so CPS could stay off her tail. Ian had given her rides home numerous times when her mother was MIA on a bender or staying with a boyfriend.

"She don't give a shit," She continued. "She would have beat her ass too sooner or later."

Ian tried not to put his head in his palms. Hearing things like this always put him in the worst spot. He had to report domestic violence but he knew how hard it was to be a 15 year old kid trapped inside the foster care system.

Ian was about to respond but she spoke over him, blaring her voice across the room. "Can I go to the bathroom? I gotta piss." She took one more bite of her Snickers bar before it was gone.

Ian nodded, giving his approval. Their last few classes she was always asking to use the bathroom. He wasn't sure if he should be concerned or just remind himself she was a teenage girl. He let his thoughts fade as he focused attention over at his next victim.

Brendan was sitting in his chair with a hood on, leaning to the side while his mouth hung open as he snored. 

It was going to be a long day.

*****

As Ian was on the L he was replaying the words from Carla in his head, to leave baggage at the door after work. To not get too invested. To not let things get to him... He was trying his absolute hardest to remember that but hearing what those kids were going through and knowing about their broken homes made his heart heavy. He was constantly thinking about them and what obstacles they would face next. Ian saw a little bit of himself in each of those kids, but Tosha gave him the most grief. Her mother was a nightmare and her family was nearly nonexistent. She was all on her own, and if things got any worse, Ian would have to report her living conditions. Her mother would take off for days on end without calling, leaving no food in the house and even skipping the power bill. When she wasn't gone on her binges she was brining home strange men that were sometimes unsafe. Ian had heard all of this and knew she wasn't lying. She may have been a force to be reckoned with, but she wasn't a liar. 

Though his work was mentally exhausting, he loved his job and he loved helping these poor kids who, like him, lived in the ghetto. He knew about that life and how hard it was to grow up with neglectful parents. He had been working there two weeks after he was released from jail and had no interest in being employed anywhere else. Lip had pulled some strings and got him the job miraculously, even with his record. He was still teased by a few kids and even coworkers about his past gay Jesus endeavours but he tried not to let it get to him. The importance of his role in the youth community mattered more to him than any random, manic driven decisions that occurred in the past. This was his life, his new life, and he wasn't going to let it go. 

He remembered the first day he started, how nervous he was, but as time went on he realized how good of an outlet it was to be helping others while Mickey wasn't with him. It gave him purpose and felt more than satisfying. It wasn't bad money either. $19.75 an hour with monthly bonus' and other incentives. Since he had been there he had received performance reviews and always got a significant raise. When Mickey was still locked up, Ian saved every penny he had making sure to have things all arranged for when he got out. Sure enough, Ian had more than enough for a deposit on an apartment in the heart of the city which he had paid for and decently furnished, all ready for his man.

He smiled as he thought of Mickey's face when Ian surprised him and how they broke in the bed that night. All night. 

The doors opened suddenly and Ian realized it was his stop. He exited but instantly regretted it. Though the L smelled of piss and wet dog, it was significantly warm in comparison to the outside. The windy chill nearly took his breath away as he nestled his head further down into the neck of his thick jacket before readjusting his beanie, being sure it was covering most of his head. Winter in Chicago was just beginning. The Fairytale was only about a five minute walk from the L station but it was going to be a small journey in these temperatures, and they would only continue dropping as the night went on. Just when his teeth were chattering from the cold he finally made it to the entrance. Outside there were a few bums along the railings, begging for change and coming to get some sort of eye candy. Mickey was pretty good about having security (or himself) clear them out, but on busy nights they seemed to trickle through. A few of them even knew Ian by name and greeted him before he went inside.

As soon as his fingertips grazed the freezing metallic handle, his stomach flared in a wave of fluttering knots, and not because of the cold. It happened every time he was about to walk in knowing he would get to see Mickey in a matter of minutes. An whole day was entirely too long to be away from him and he missed him terribly. He wasn't sure how he made it alone without him for eight months when he could barely last eight hours. The excitement of seeing him again was just the same it had always been, no matter how much time passed.

He pulled open the door, walking in and feeling the overwhelming warmth take over and giving him instant comfort. The place was moderately busy for a Tuesday night but he knew it wasn't enough to meet target sales. It was brightly lit with flashing lights flickering in his eyes as usual but he noticed the music was odd as it was some kind of a deep, melodic trance track. He looked towards the back of the building to see who was on the table. It was a tall, lanky man whom Ian didn't recognize, which meant Mickey had to find another last minute D.J. Another pricey bill to add to either the collection in the office or at home. He took a seat at his usual spot at the bar next to Levi, a club regular. Much like the Alibi there were a few older men who sat together, huddled at the bar drinking White Russians and watching young men dance. It was rather sad considering some of them were married with children, but they paid good and kept the place entertaining. 

"Hey, Levi." Ian said, removing his jacket and hanging it over the bar seat. Levi looked up suddenly, greeting him with an inviting hello. Ian was itching for a cold beer. He got Manny's attention, the weeknight bartender.

"Hey sweetie." He said giving him a happy smile revealing a set of pristine white teeth. "The usual?" He asked as if he had to.

Ian smiled back, nodding. "Yep. Where's the boss at? Kicking ass and taking names?" He joked.

Manny looked towards the emergency exit at the back of the building. "Yeah, actually. Just got rid of another bonehead trying to grope Jace. You know how your man is," He retrieved a beer, popping the top off and sliding it towards Ian's open hand. "He don't play." 

Ian's smile grew wider. 

"What the fucks wrong with these assholes?" Mickey's sharp tone was heard over the gloomy trance song. "Come in my club and don't tip my dancers shit but wanna get fresh and cop a feel." He came strutting around the other side of bar, a huge tub of ice in his arms which he poured in the bar cooler in front of Ian. He looked up but his eyes did a double take before fixing on him. Noticing his presence, Ian's heart seemed to beat a little faster. His face changed instantly, his eyebrows lowering and his mouth forming into an adorable smile.

"Hey you." Mickey nearly threw the tub at Manuel as he leaned across the bar top for a kiss. Ian followed to him eagerly before placing a longing kiss on his lips, not wanting to break away.

"Alright, alright. Enough with the PDA. What kind of place do you think we're running here?!" Manny laughed as a few others whistled in the distance.

"Hilarious." Mickey rolled his eyes throwing a plastic shot glass at him as he continued laughing. He turned back to Ian, placing his hand on his and stroking it with his thumb. "How'd today go?' He asked. 

Ian already seemed to be done with his beer as Manny had already gave him another, taking his empty bottle. "Good." He said thinking how sweet it was that Mickey always, always asked about his. "Yours?"

Mickey sighed, his eyebrows raising as he scanned the crowd. "Haven't even been here three fuckin hours and the till is almost a hundred bucks short, I've had to kick two guys out and Johnny walked." He looked extremely stressed.

"Johnny quit?!" Ian was surprised by this news. "He was the best!"

Mickey looked frustrated. "Yeah tell me something I don't know. Said he can't deal with the hours anymore. Threw his tips on the floor and left- Hey!" His facial expression changed again as his eyes shot directly over Ian's head. "Trent what the fuck?!"

Ian turned around to see Trent running by, heading for the dance floor as if he was avoiding Mickey altogether. He stopped before he got any further, flashing him a sheepish smile.

"First of all, you're fuckin late. Second of all, Tuesdays are black sequence shorts and bow tie, not gold! Get it together!" 

"Sorry, Mickey." He said apologetically. He walked away quickly, his head down in disappointment. 

"I don't get it. It's like I'm a brick wall to these guys. You made that big ass flashy sign of the outfit schedule in the crew room and no one follows it." He was shaking his head as he poured himself some whiskey over ice.

Ian took another gulp from his bottle. "I even wrote it in bubble letters." He muttered to himself.

Mickey took out his pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "Manny, keep watch. We're gonna go grab a smoke." 

Ian hopped off his barstool, feeling giddy as he began following Mickey to the back of the building. He grabbed his hand as he guided him through the crowd. It was small tonight but still a turnout for a weekday. Ian was beaming as the flashing strobe lights flickered on his eyelids, feeling special as he was pulled through the mass of people, Mickey leading the way. He probably looked quite ridiculous with that stupid grin on his face but he didn't care. He hadn't seen his man for eight hours and he was simply jazzed.

He locked eyes with Michael who was one of the main dancers on the big stage. He gave Ian a wave mid pelvic thrust. He waved back. They approached the door, opening it and hearing the music drown out as it began to close behind him.

Before he could turn to face Mickey he was already in a forceful embrace, feeling him pull his body into his. He moved in closer to him and Ian could feel his breath hit his neck. 

"Miss me?"

Mickey's whisper sang in Ian's ears. He couldn't hide his grin if his life depended on it. He extended his neck upwards, looking up to the night sky as Mickey's chilling breath continued to ride up his skin. Cold, white ice specks were landing on his face. It was beginning to snow.

"Do you have to ask?" Ian responded as he looked back down to him, placing his hands on either side of his face and pulling him into a tender kiss. It was insanely cold outside but his lips were amazingly warm.

He didn't have to open eyes to see the smile creeping on his face; he could feel it on his mouth.

"Guess not." He gave him one more soft peck before breaking away, still smiling. He stayed close but reached into his pocket to retrieve his lighter. It was a red bic, the word _Leo_ written across it in gold letters. He had it for months, even refilling it with fluid a few weeks back. It was one Ian had picked up for him at the mini mart across from their apartment many moons ago. He pulled out two cigarettes from his pack, lighting one and passing it over to Ian.

He always did this, lit his cigarette before his own. It was a striking act of chivalry and it never failed to make Ian's skin tingle.

As he accepted it his mind replayed to his conversation with Carla earlier, about Mickey possibly coming in for a joint therapy session. He wanted to discuss it but figured it was a bad time; Mickey's night wasn't even halfway over and he didn't want to elude him with more stresses. He took a few lengthy drags from the Malboro, looking down the alleyway and watching as the snow flakes trickled down, showing in the yellow streetlight. He shivered as the cold ran up his spine. He felt Mickey's hand touch his back where he rubbed him affectionately causing him to sigh in immediate comfort.

"Tonight's gonna be a fuckin shit show." He said finally, now staring at the snow with Ian, almost day dreaming. He had large bags under his eyes that never seemed to fully disappear. "My dancers keep walking out, I have to keep hiring one-night DJs who play shit music..." He took a long drag before blowing it into the air, his pale skin looking wonderful while bits of snow laid on his eyelashes.

There wasn't a way to describe just how hard Mickey worked and how much effort he put into the club just so they could live comfortably. Ian was forever in his debt and wished there was more he could do to help. When he wasn't working he tried his best to help in anyway he could, picking up slack and taking some of the load off of Mickey. He was always helping him with small tasks like picking costumes for the dancers, putting in product orders, writing schedules, even cleaning the bathrooms, but it still was an overload for the two of them combined. Something had to give.

"We need like," Ian blew out his smoke to voice his idea. "An assistant or something." He thought about it, having someone step in and help them juggle the finances.

Mickey's face scrunched. He knew what was coming...

"I don't need an assistant. We're fine. Things are fantastic."

Just then the emergency exit door swung open. Manny was back, his hair tussled with a panicked expression on his face.

"Boss!" He shouted frantically, sticking his head out into the cold. "Eric puked all over the left stage and the last keg of Bud has a crack. Beer everywhere!" Manny did a dramatic hand motion as if the story needed anymore enthusiasm.

"Ah, fuck." Ian said taking one more puff not wanting to even look at Mickey. He squinted, bracing himself for his reaction.

Mickey balled his hands into fists before flicking his cigarette loud enough to hear his fingers snap. He didn't say a word as he opened the door, shooing Manny to walk forward as Ian followed behind him.

A shit show indeed.

*****

It was nearly 3AM. Ian sat across from Mickey in the office as he counted the money in the till, organizing all his bills and laying them out in order. The sound of paper swooshing together as he counted it, yawning in exhaustion, the bags under his eyes looking even darker. The office was a disastrous mess of stacked paper piles, old furniture and broken sound equipment. Ian had helped him close shop, cleaning tables and stacking chairs since Ricardo, the maintenance man never showed for his shift. He and Mickey were both soaked from trying to fix a crack in the keg that only cracked more when it smashed onto the floor, drenching everyone in a five foot radius. Ian rubbed his wet toes together in his shoes.

"You need help?" He asked, sitting up from his seat and stretching his arms out.

"Nah, I'm good baby." Mickey declined. To Ian's relief he seemed to have a pleased look on his face. "Made sales. Not bad for a Tuesday night even though I got a half retarted crew."

Ian smirked. "Oh shut up. You do not."

"It's fuckin true! Besides Michael, all the good ones I had walked. Only solid one I got left is Manny. I need new dancers, new waiters..."

Ian walked over to him at the edge of the desk. He creeped behind him, getting close to his ear.

"Fuck might even need a new janitor..." He kept rambling as Ian wrapped his hands around his lower waist, keeping them just above his belt. "Maybe even need a new..." He seemed to lose track of counting money as he dropped his hands to the table, leaning his head back in praise while Ian kissed his lower neck. He encouraged him to keep venting but Mickey didn't continue. He put his hands up around Ian's head getting two handfuls of his his hair. He turned his head enough so their lips could meet once again. He tasted as he always did: sweet, but like a bourbon distillery. 

As he began stuffing his hands into Mickey's pants he could feel just how beer soaked he was and the smell of wet hops became apparent. Before he could let him say a word he unbuttoned his jeans in record time; he had it down to a tee. He heard a small moan escape his lips while Ian traced his tongue on the side of his ear.

"You taste like beer." He whispered as he released a light giggle. "I wanna taste more." He smiled and at the very same time an amused grin appeared on Mickey's face.

"Right now?" He questioned, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as Ian kept planting small kisses on his skin.

"Mhmm." Ian answered. He started pulling down his jeans, making sure they got to his ankles. He wanted him in his mouth but Mickey seemed to have other plans as he arched his back slightly, pushing his ass against him. Though he wanted to pleasure him orally, he wasn't going to deny him of the alternative...

Before they could muster up anymore conversation Ian was already smashing Mickey down onto the top of the desk. He felt guilty as the nicely ordered cash was now tampered, but there were more important things at the moment, and Mickey didn't seem to have the slightest objection. He leaned over and gave Mickey a light bite on his neck as he whimpered, clearly wanting more as he felt the sensation of Ian's hard cock pressed against him.

"Oh, fuck." Mickey's breathless words were barely heard as Ian scrambled to get his own pants down. When he was finished he cupped his hands over his ass, spreading them apart, being sure run his finger down him, feeling ever inch. This caused Mickey to shudder in pleasure, only increasing Ian's urge to be inside of him. He held his own cock, aiming for the right spot as Mickey backed up into him, already mounting. He knew exactly where to go. They didn't have an lube handy so Ian considered spitting but the wetness of the beer seemed to suffice. He slid in slowly and watched as Mickey laid himself flat on the desk, gripping the edge for stability. Ian didn't waste anytime on getting to work, thrusting into him viciously as he could hear the deep grunts from Mickey below him. The whole entire desk was vibrating causing the drawers to rattle, the handles clanking repeatedly. He was able to grab onto Mickey's hips perfectly in this position, tightening his grasp around them and humping harder. As he was gaining speed, objects began falling, the mass of papers on the corner had fallen to the floor and bills seemed to go flying everywhere. Ian ripped up Mickey's shirt to reveal his skin, feeling his back which was damp with a mixture of sweat and beer.

"Does that feel good baby?" Ian asked, leaning forward slightly to be closer to his face and hear his answer.

Mickey had his eyes closed, nodding eagerly as he bit his lip. It was intoxicatingly sexy, almost making Ian combust on the spot, but he knew he had to hold out a bit longer before he ended it. 

"It feels so fucking good." Mickey wined, his voice hitting a higher pitch. He wasn't much of the talkative type during sex but Ian forced him to be, asking him questions and pushing the words to come out of him. He loved to hear him be verbal as it only made his cock grow even harder, if that was possible. Before he could start really railing into him, Mickey arched his back upwards yet again, pushing his ass up to signal for Ian to go hard. He obeyed his orders, gripping onto him even tighter to make sure he could withstand the impact. Instead of grabbing ahold of Mickey's hips he was holding onto either side of the desk, wrapping his finger rips around the edge as he held on. He pulled his waist back far enough to smash into him with a forceful thrust.

"Oh hell yeah. Right there baby..." He heard Mickey whisper. 

Ian lolled his head back in pleasure as a series of chills erupted over his skin. He was on the verge of a climax and trying his hardest to hold out longer, but it was no use. He couldn't last another second. He gripped Mickey's hips again, holding on for dear life.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum." He said as his eyes seemed to automatically roll to the back of his head. He could feel Mickey tense up around him and start to pulse, drawn out moans filling the room. "Here it comes..." 

He held his breath as his whole load released inside of Mickey, the tightness pounding around him as he heard him slam his fists into the desk. He was panting heavily, trying to catch air as he was completely winded. He wiped his forehead as he struggled to find the energy to pull up his pants. Mickey was still laying across the desk, twitching slightly like a dead fish. He reached around from underneath his chest. propping him up onto his feet. He watched as he saw him reach for his drink but realized it wasn't there. He looked down to their feet where there was a broken glass, a puddle of whiskey and melting ice. 

"Oops." Ian muttered, smiling back up at his man. 

Mickey was staring back at him, his eyebrows furrowed but unable to hide a smirk.

"What?" Ian shrugged his shoulders. "I couldn't resist." 

Mickey's mouth was open, ready to respond when suddenly the room chimed with a phone ring. He pulled it out, reading frantically. Ian loved watching him mouth the words inaudibly. 

"Fuck!" 

That was audible.

"Jack wants to switch shifts with Tristan tomorrow night. Tristan is a piece of shit dancer! That's why I always put him in the back! He can't be in the front on Wet Wednesday..." He continued rambling. Ian listened to his venting as they put their soaking clothes back on. He was right, Wet Wednesday bought in a lot of customers.

Tomorrow was already turning out to be yet another day of chaos, and Ian couldn't wait.


	2. Pucks, Patience, and Puking.

It was yet another freezing night Chi-town. It was both Ian and Mickey's day off, and Ian was spending his time curled in a blanket waiting for the Blackhawks game to come on. Wednesday nights were their only time off together, so normally they didn’t do much but relax and hangout around the house. He was resting his head on Mickey's lower abdomen while he was propped upright and leaning against the headboard, clicking buttons on his phone. He was making the schedule for next week which was always unnecessarily stressful.

"Should I put Eric serving Fridays? Or front stage? Tristan starts night school or some shit so he's cutting back his hours... I don't get it. These dudes shake their dicks at old pervy men all night long but also wanna go to school to be doctors and shit."

He could hear Mickey biting his cuticles above his head.

"Babe, some people want a life beyond shaking their dicks. And don't put Eric on serving. He talks too much. He only shuts up when he dances. Put Patrick on serving. He said he wants more shifts anyway." Ian flipped the channel as a commercial started.

"He said that? When?" Mickey asked, sounding especially alarmed.

Ian yawned obnoxiously before speaking. "A couple nights ago. We were talking before he got on the L."

He could almost hear Mickey's eyebrows shooting up his forehead. "Oh, good thing he notifies his fucking boss of that. You know, the one that makes his schedules and fucking pays him."

Ian was about ready to flip back the channel as the commercials concluded. There was still an hour or so until the game so he was watching last week's highlights. He stretched his legs out, squinting as his muscles tensed up. He relaxed his body, letting his feet hang loosely over the mattress. He was about to yawn again when he felt Mickey get up suddenly, gently removing his head from his lap. He heard the nightstand drawer open then shut very quickly. What looked like two thin pieces of paper were suddenly falling from the sky, floating down and landing softly in front of his nose. He looked up at Mickey who was standing over him, his arms crossed with an anticipating smile on his face.

"Well read them!" He ordered.

Ian rubbed his eyes then picked up the small papers, scanning the tiny font. When he realized what he was holding he almost screamed like a little girl. He looked back up at his boyfriend with twinkling eyes.

"No you fucking didn't!" He shouted, reading the tickets again to make sure they were real. "This is tonight?!"

_Blackhawks VS. Predators_  
Wednesday, November 15th at 7:00  
United Center Stadium

Mickey nodded his head, licking his lips before revealing an even wider smile. He seemed to be pleased with himself. "Yep. I sure the fuck did.”

“Holy shit! We’re going?! Right now?!” Ian wasn’t sure how to react but was certain that his tired, lazy spell had disappeared immediately.

"Yeah! Right now! We only got like an hour. Get your ass up. I wanna stop by the Alibi, get a few shots in." He leaned over slightly, giving Ian a light smack on his right ass cheek. Ian turned on his back in response, reaching his hands behind his head and flashing him a challenging grin.

"You gonna make me?" He winked as he bit his lip.

Mickey smiled again, jumping on top of him, straddling his long body and tussling him around. The room filled with laughter.

*****

They arrived at the Alibi, bundled up warmly in their jackets and winter wear, fully prepared for the blanket of snow that began taking over the streets. The bar was exceptionally crowded for a Wednesday night, but Kev appeared not to be sweating it as usual, pouring drinks and cracking jokes like always. They sat at two stools in the front, removing their hats and gloves as they got settled. Ian immediately spotted Frank in the far-left corner talking to an older woman but paid him absolutely no attention, and neither did Mickey. 

Kevin finally noticed their presence.

"Well well well, look who it is!" He was beaming. "If it isn't the Brad and Angelina of the Southside..." He gave Mickey a handshake and Ian a wink before throwing a white dish rag over his shoulder.

"Fuck that, Brad ain't got shit on me." Mickey cracked an adorable smile that Ian couldn’t stop himself from admiring.

Kev chuckled, pointing directly at him. "You're right. You're way sexier than Brad. Don't let anyone tell you any different, Mickey." Without asking he served them their usual: two beers and two shots of Jameson.

"How's business at the Fairytale, big boss? They still talk about me over there?" Kev winked.

Mickey downed his shot before Ian could even grab his. He slammed it on the bar top letting out a satisfying sigh.

"Why, you wanna come back? I got a shit crew now so you're more than welcome to get up on that stage, shake your straight ass and bring me some money." He sipped his beer, belching loudly and waiting for a response.

Ian laughed. "Yeah, come on Kev. Get back on the twink train. I just designed some new outfits you’d like." He took his shot finally, also slamming it on the bar top. Kev was filling a glass of beer, staring into space mid-pour, looking like he was sincerely pondering their proposal but snapped out of, shaking his head.

"No," He said abruptly as he looked back down at the glass filling with beer. "That life is in the past, boys. I'll leave it to professionals like you." He nodded in Ian's direction. 

He was about to reply when Mickey cut him off. "Yeah, not fuckin happening. He's retired."

Kev smiled. "Woah, do I sense some jealousy?" 

Ian mouthed the words 'yes' while Mickey was shaking his head in denial. Before their banter continued Ian felt a hard smack on the back of his shoulders followed by the earsplitting sound of his father's voice. He cringed, almost wincing as he heard him speak.

"My son."

He turned his head back to look at his poor excuse of a dad. He had that stupid, fake grin on his face, the one he had when he was getting ready to ask for something.

"Don't have any money Frank." He said without hesitation, hoping his statement would defuse anymore potential conversation as he gulped down the last few sips of his cold beer.

"Oh I don't want your money! How about you buy your dear old dad a drink, huh? Take a shot with me, for old times sake! Maybe we can go back to your place and play a game of cards? Yahtzee? Clue? What do you say-"

Before he could go on a rant Mickey interrupted. “Piss off Frank.” He flipped him off from the other side of the bar. 

His smile faded quicker than it had appeared. He made some sarcastic remark but Ian tuned it out completely and ignored his existence until he finally walked off, moving to another man in the bar, his next mooch victim.

“What are you two lovebirds up to tonight?” Kev asked as he returned to their seats with refils.

“Blackhawks game!” Ian shook with excitement trying not to look stupid but couldn’t help it. “Mickey bought us tickets and surprised me.” He did a little head shake as he gulped some beer.

Kev’s jaw dropped enthusiastically. “No fucking way. That’s so cool, man. See I need a boyfriend. Like a bromance. You know? Like someone I can go to hockey games with, go on dates with, but no strings attached. No sex, either.”

“Oh shit.” Mickey said suddenly, checking the time on his phone. “We gotta split… Let’s go.” 

They both took the last few sips of their drinks. Ian shuffled in his pockets for cash when Mickey stopped him, already placing money on the bar top. He always did this.

Mickey was already halfway out the door before Ian said goodbye to Kev and followed him out.

*****

After Mickey was unable to find a bathroom which resulted in peeing on the side of the stadium, the two finally made their way to their seats, hands full of snacks and beers. These would be the best seats in the house at any Cubs game, but there was a clear plastic wall between them and the rink in case a puck went flying. Ian was so stoked he couldn't hide his smile if he tried. Mickey had truly gone all out for this event and he didn't dare ask the price of their tickets.

When they were finally sitting down and settled, Ian was already halfway done with his first beer. He usually stuck with his traditional Old Style but this time he got a high percent Porter instead. It was quite hoppy and a little too stout for his liking, but it was much stronger than his go-to. When it came down to it Ian wasn't very picky anyway. Beer was beer and drunk was drunk. They sat in their crammed seats, heavy jackets still on as it was almost as cold inside as it was outside. Ian thought ahead of time and brought his Blackhawks fleece blanket he received as a Christmas present from Lip a few years back.

Mickey already had his hand locked into place on Ian's knee where it would stay for nearly the whole game.

After a few more moments of waiting anxiously, the spotlights around them seemed to have shifted to the center of rink, one focusing on the doorway just around the left side of their seats. Suddenly there was a mass of men booming out of it, racing towards the rink, the smooth sound of gliding ice coming from the blades of their skates. Ian thought he was going to squeal in glee as he watched them all gather in a small circle, ramming their helmets and clanking their hockey sticks together. he hadn't been to a game since he was 15 so his excitement was nothing short of remarkable. He knew hockey wasn't really Mickey's thing, but he still sat beside him, equally excited.

"You think we'll see a fight?" Mickey asked, his eyes wide as he sipped his beer and scanned the rink, observing the men skate to their positions. "I'd be down for that."

Ian let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "You're a simple man, Mick."

He smiled back at him, his eyes widening again. "What?" He nudged his shoulder. "Those are some big ass dudes. I wanna see them throw some punches." 

Ian spread the blanket out between the two of them as they huddled together for warmth. "I can't believe you got these seats. This is so fuckin' awesome. Like, I'm still in shock." He glanced over to him, the white of the ice rink reflecting in his blue eyes.

Mickey was grinning at this point as he gave his thigh a tight squeeze. "You deserve it. You work hard." 

Ian rolled his eyes and lips in unison. "Pretty sure you work a million times harder than me."

Mickey was getting ready to speak when Ian watched his eyes quickly shift passed his head and fix on something behind him. He turned around to see what caught his attention. Just a few rows down there was a short husky man staring directly up at them from his seat, his back arched around the chair to look at them. His thick black eyebrows were furrowed as he shook his head in disgust, sizing them up from head to toe.

“Have a look at this fuckin prick.” Mickey said, clearly bothered. Ian rolled his eyes again.

He sipped down the last of his beer. “Don’t pay any attention to him. It’s not worth it.”

He tried to calm him down but he knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. Mickey didn’t let anything slide.

“Looks like this guy’s never seen a couple at a hockey game before.” He began gulping his beer down fiercely. “I should rearrange his fuckin’ face.”

Ian was shaking his head before he finished his sentence. “Mick, just ignore him. He can stare all he wants.”

“Yeah I’ll give him something to stare at alright.”

Ian watched him begin to demonstrate an unflattering hand gesture but stopped him before he could finish. He gave him a sharp look which signaled for him to knock it off. Without saying anything, Mickey obeyed and sat back in his seat, relaxing so they both could watch the game with ease.

*****

“We fucking killed them!!” Ian was shouting outside of the stadium, barely able to keep his composure as the compelling feeling of victory and cold beer filled inside of him. After witnessing an outstanding game, he was now on cloud nine. “I can’t believe we scored the winning fucking goal in the last three seconds! I can’t fuckin believe it! Holy shit. That was insane!”

He was absolutely ecstatic and couldn't stop boasting about it since they left the seats. How could he? Mickey was also excited but wasn’t as dependent on a victory as Ian had been. He walked with him, holding his hand and listened to him rant and rave about the game for entirely too long. Ian was having a hard time walking as the beers were hitting him like a freight train at this point, but he couldn’t hide his eluding happiness. 

They were just about to cross the street to the L station when they heard a low, unpleasant voice behind them.

“What a disgrace.”

Ian turned but not as quickly as Mickey did. He realized it was the man in the stands that had been giving them dirty looks throughout the whole game. 

“Excuse you?” Mickey was already a step too close in front of the man’s face.

“You heard me. Can’t even go to a man’s sport without seeing a couple of fags.” He was staring at the both of them repulsively.

Ian glanced over at Mickey and if he didn’t know better he thought the blue vein popping out of his forehead was going to explode if this man said one more ignorant comment. This time he didn’t speak as he began to lunge forward, ready to fight with fists waving. Ian knew from experience Mickey was strong and an even fight, but he held him back. Another charge on their record and it was straight back to the metal motel. It took every ounce of effort in his muscles to restrain Mickey from totally wrecking this man as he went in for the kill. The man stepped backward a few steps, looking quite frightened as he watched Mickey transform into attack mode, most likely not expecting such aggression from a five foot seven inch tall gay man.

“Let’s go Mick!” He shouted as he was pulling against him, forcing him to walk in the opposite direction. “It’s not worth it! It’s not fucking worth it.”

He ignored his words but seemed to be letting off a little bit, most likely realizing a public outburst and all out brawl on the side of the street wouldn’t be in their best interest. 

“Say another fucking word, bitch! I fucking dare you! Rip that nasty pube stache right off your dog ugly face you fucking prick!” 

Ian kept pulling him away but let him spew out some anger since, after all, Ian was equally as mad and figured a good run of his mouth was more than deserving. Back in the day Mickey would leave this guy beaten to a pulp on the sidewalk, but now was actually making an effort to refrain. He had come a long way.

“How do you like this, huh?” 

Ian was suddenly being shoved into a violently wet mouth kiss full of passion and angst. He reacted instantly, kissing back eagerly and even wrapping his arms around Mickey’s waist and down to his ass, getting two hearty handfuls They broke apart finally, making sure he was still watching.

“How’s that for a couple of fags you homophobic shithead!” Ian shouted back. He had to have a turn too, of course.

At that very moment the both of them flipped him off in unison, laughing as the man stared at them in a total disturbance.

Mickey sighed as he returned his hand into is, intertwining it once again. “I feel better.”

Ian agreed.

*****  
As they approached the steps to their apartment building, Ian was surprised to see Iggy sitting on the first one dressed in nothing but a pair of jeans and a thin black sweatshirt. He had his hands in his pockets, shivering violently as he sat under the roof of the doorway to avoid the falling snow. He was about to greet him when he lost footing, slipping on a concealed strip of ice on the sidewalk. If it wasn’t for Mickey keeping a firm grip on his arm, he would have hit the ground.

“Jesus, slow down drunky!” Mickey was laughing in amusement as he still held onto his arm making sure he wouldn’t escape his grasp.

“It’s the ice!” Ian exclaimed, trying his best not to sound intoxicated but failing miserably.

Iggy stood up when he noticed their presence, rubbing his hands together and breathing hot air in them for warmth.

“You know how to use a fuckin phone?” He asked Mickey, his tone displeasing. 

He looked up at him with raised eyebrows, ready to spit an instant rebuttal. “Yeah and I know how to ignore your fuckin calls too.”

Iggy paused as he processed Mickey’s words, standing behind them as Ian drunkenly punched in their apartment keycode to be let in. After three drunken attempts it finally buzzed and unlocked.

“Well that’s fucked up…” Iggy said solemnly.

“What the fuck are you doing here anyway? I find it hard to believe you came to see my ass.” 

They were walking up the flight of stairs together slowly, Ian barely able to keep up with the two of them as every step was blending into one making it extremely difficult to stay balanced. He was also getting a little nauseous as Iggy delved into his story. ranting about his girlfriend, Briana, who had kicked him out of the house again. Ian had only met Briana once and she was nothing short of a complete psychotic maniac. When she wasn’t screaming at Iggy she was throwing him out onto the street with all of his belongings, keying his car and slashing his tires. She was an angry, jealous woman who was never happy or satisfied which resulted in Iggy ending up on their doorstep every month or so.

“This time she came to my fucking work, man. Started screaming at me in front of customers. She’s fuckin batshit!”

They finally reached the doorway to the apartment, Mickey unlocking it while Ian stumbled in behind him.

“Then why do you put up with that shit? Fuck that.” Ian spoke with assertion as he plopped on the couch, staring at Iggy and waiting for a satisfactory answer.

“Well,” He shrugged, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting up. “She’s a good fuck, if you really wanna know…” 

“No,” Mickey interjected. “We don’t. And how many fucking times to I have to tell you to smoke outside?” He ripped the cigarette from Iggy’s mouth as he stood there with a puzzled look on his face. Iggy pointed to the coffee table.

“Then why is there a fuckin ashtray in here!” He shouted.

“Because it’s my fuckin house!”

Iggy rolled his eyes at the same time he spun his head back, gazing at the ceiling finally asking what he wanted. “Can I stay here tonight?”

Mickey instantly shot a pressing look at Ian as if he needed his approval. He put his hands up. “Don’t look at me, I don’t care if he stays. As long as that crazy bitch doesn’t come here.” Just then a guttural burp escaped his mouth followed by a rush of acidic heartburn to his throat.

Mickey was still staring at Ian. “Two days. Two fuckin’ days.” He held up two fingers for a solid five seconds before turning around and strutting down the hallway, making it painstakingly obvious he was irritated. Ian knew this was his signal to follow even though he wanted to stay up and play a round of COD with Iggy before he passed out. He gave him a regretful expression before he stood up, about to provide him with an explanation but Iggy spoke before him.

“It’s alright man. Duty calls.” He saluted him, and Ian didn’t know how else to respond other than saluting back.

Before he exited the living room he turned back to Iggy. “Oh, there’s clean sheets in the spare bedroom and… you might want to turn the TV volume up. Downs out the moaning.”

“Gross!”

Ian cackled all the way back to his bedroom. 

When he finally made his way in he was more than pleased to find his boyfriend in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, ready for a shower. Without reason Ian was already magnetized to him, moving in closer with arms open and a sly smile, ready to pursue his attack when he stopped dead in his tracks, clenching his abdomen. Before he could even touch Mickey his stomach seemed to have other plans. He cupped his hand over his mouth as a stream of warm liquid nearly erupted out of his mouth. He was waving Mickey out of the way as he sprinted to their bathroom, diving to the floor, hugging the porcelain god and releasing his guts into the center of it. He could hear Mickey behind him, joining him on the floor and rubbing his back.

"It fucking burns!" Ian wined as the vomit continued to spew from him uncontrollably. He could see Mickey in his peripheral vision shaking his head.

"I told you not to eat those fuckin nachos! It makes your heart burn act up every time. Here. Take these."

"But they're so good!" Ian cried in regret. He accepted a few tums Mickey was handing to him without removing his face from the toilet. 

He was looking forward to a night of hot steamy sex with his lover but with his sudden alcohol induced flu it wasn't in the cards. He was nearly falling asleep on the pot when Mickey had woken him, cleaning his mess and sending him to bed. 

*****

_Tink... Tink…_

“What the fuck is that?”

Ian was woken up by Mickey’s concerned voice.

_Tink… Tink… Tink._

He was trying his best to drown out any and all sound around him, focusing on falling back asleep to avoid a shitty hangover in the morning but Mickey wasn’t making it easy.

_Tink… Tink… Tink tink…_

Ian groaned, turning on his side and pressing his pillow onto his ears attempting to ignore his surroundings, but there was no use once Mickey was already on his feet, rustling under the bed for something. He squinted his eyes, watching as he stood at the side of the window, peering down onto the street.

“Oh fuck come on Mick! Come to back to bed.” Ian was already turning to the opposite side of the bed as Mickey opened the curtains letting the streetlight beam on him. All this position changing was making him sick again. He thought he was going to have to make another run for the toilet, if he even made it that far.

“Who…?” Mickey’s voice trailed off.

Ian turned his head slightly, studying him as he realized he was holding a 9MM pistol in his left hand, still gazing down at the street.

“What the fuck! Really?! Jesus Christ put the gun away—”

“Shhh!” Mickey hissed. “Someone’s throwing rocks at our fuckin window!” 

Ian yawned in exhaustion, rolling his eyes and once again turning the other way. He wasn’t at all concerned with someone throwing rocks at their window. There could be a level five earthquake in Chicago and he wouldn’t care at this point.

“It’s a chick!” He exclaimed. “Why the fuck is some little girl throwing rocks at our window? It’s three in the god damn morning! Fuck!” 

Mickey was obviously angry now as he realized the sight before him made no sense. A girl?

“It’s probably Briana.”

“Who?”

“Briana Iggy’s bitch ass girlfriend.”

“No, Briana’s tall and blond this chick can’t be over five feet and has dark hair. Pale skin. Kinda fuckin creepy…” Mickey was still staring but lowered his gun sounding more curious now than threatened

Suddenly, a small lightbulb clicked on in Ian’s head. He sat up, dragging his own body over to the window to get a look for himself. He gripped onto the edge of the windowsill as if he needed to hold his balance. He peered down, staring blankly. Mickey was right, it definitely was a girl. Without any further analyzation he recognized her immediately.

“Oh you gotta be fuckin kidding me.” He sunk his head down in disappointment.

“You know her?” Mickey questioned. “Who the fuck is she?”

He sighed, shaking his head.

“Tosha.”

“Who the fucks Tosha?!” He shouted, sounding angry but even more confused than before.

“One of my kids. From work.”

*****

"She's gone for good this time."

Tosha was getting frustrated as both Ian and Mickey were grilling her with questions. The first one being why was she disturbing them in the middle of the night. She was dressed in a light coat with what appeared to be a spaghetti underneath, complimented by red and green plaid pajama pants. The three of them were sitting together in the living room listening to Iggy's snoring from the other room during paused silences. Apparently Tosha's mom had been gone for three days now, out on the run with another temporary boyfriend leaving her to fend for herself with no food, no working lights and no cash. Ian assumed she would be back soon, that she would be looking for her high and low when she returned, but Tosha seemed positive that she wouldn't be coming home.

"She'll be back." Ian insisted. "She always comes back."

Tosha immediately shook her head in denial. "No. She's not coming back this time. She's going to Kentucky."

Ian shot her a look of confusion, his face changing completely. "Kentucky? How do you know that?"

"Because," She grabbed a pack of cigarettes from her purse. "That's where Bruce lives. He doesn't wanna stay here because he's got warrants. My mom's been talking about going with him for months now, saying she's tired of this shithole and tired of taking care of kids." She found a lighter sitting on the coffee table, Mickey's lighter, and ignited. Ian was quick to rip it from her hands, as well as the cigarette she was attempting to smoke. He tossed the lighter to Mickey and broke the smoke in half.

"Hey!" She yelled. "Those are expensive!"

"Oh yeah?" Mickey clearly couldn't help but put in his two cents in. "You buying them? Last I checked they don't sell to 14 year olds." 

She shot him a piercing look. "I'm 15, 16 in February." She said proudly.

"Still, you shouldn't be smoking at your age." Ian rebutted.

"What are you saying, you started smoking when you were 14." Mickey said accusingly, staring at him with a blank expression.

Before he could cut her off Tosha was already questioning Mickey's words. "You smoke?" She asked curiously.

Ian shook his head, waving his hands in the air frantically. "Enough! Nevermind that, back to the point. Look, Tosha. You can stay here for one night and then you have to get back home. I could get in huge trouble, maybe even lose my job if this gets out." 

"The night?" Mickey looked a little unsure. He leaned in closer to Ian, nearly whispering in his ear. "We already have Iggy in the other room. This isn’t the fucking Ronald McDonald house."

Before Ian could explain to Mickey that there was no other option at the moment, Tosha interrupted them. "Who are you?" Her tone was purposely intimidating.

"This is my boyfriend, Mickey." Ian said quickly attempting to avoid any conflict between the two of them. Without even flashing a glance he knew Mickey was stirring in his seat with shock that some little teenage girl would have the audacity to ask who he was in his own home. For the first time since Ian had known Tosha she seemed to be silent, thinking about what he had said.

"Boyfriend? You're gay?" She asked, looking as if she had some sort of epiphany.

He figured that was coming.

"Sure am." He responded, mocking her proud tone.

"Okay, okay enough small talk. You wanna stay here for a night that's fine but you get the couch, princess. No smoking, no drinking and no back talk and if you know what's good for you I suggest you don't speak a fuckin word of this to his work. Got it?"

Ian thought Mickey was coming off a little too harsh but a firm hand is what she most likely needed. Tosha was a wild child and a bit of structure at any instance in her life would do her some good.

"Got it?" Ian repeated him, waiting for her answer. A wave of anxiety rushed through him as he thought of the possibility that Tosha's mom was indeed gone for good. That would mean foster care was the fate of her future.

"Yeah, yeah." She sighed. She scooted further down the middle of the couch, laying down and getting comfortable. "A real charmer, that one." She whispered.

Ian threw her a blanket which she spread over herself, curling onto her side. He was ready to walk back into the bedroom with a sleep deprived Mickey when he heard her voice one last time for the night.

"Ian?" She said, hearing a young innocence to her that he had never heard before. "Can you take me to my appointment at Birth and Family in the morning? I don't want to walk in the cold."

He smiled, unable to avoid it. "Sure, Tosha." Mickey seemed to already have disappeared when he stopped in his tracks for the second time that night. This time it wasn't induced by vomiting. "Wait," He turned back to her. "Birth and Family? For what?"

"My prenatal appointment. For the baby.” She patted her stomach. 

What else could the Universe drop on him?


	3. Double Fucking Standards.

Ian had barely slept and was still half drunk from the night before, a massive, pounding headache throbbing in his brain accompanied by aching body fatigue. After hearing the news that Tosha's mother abandoned her 15 year old pregnant daughter, it was a difficult to sleep comfortably. His mind had been racing all night long, tossing and turning so disruptively that even Mickey noticed he didn't get a wink of sleep and was concerned. He needed decent sleep with all the meds he was taking, even though he didn't like to admit it. Shortly after consuming his morning dose he was already a walking zombie.

Regardless of his exhaustion, things still had to get done and Tosha had asked Ian to take her to her appointment which he agreed to. Mickey wasn't happy about it, saying she needed to figure out her own way to get there, and it wasn't their problem if 'the kid is knocked up.'

He was more sympathetic to the situation than Mickey and for some reason he had an odd, pressing desire to help Tosha as well as protect her from harm. She was a young kid from a broken home with horrendous parents and was soon becoming a parent herself. She had no one; no good friends, no family and no support. She needed help and Ian was ready to do what he needed to in order to keep her and her child safe. He wasn't sure why he was so connected to her. Maybe it was the fact that she talked, acted, resembled and nearly had identical mannerisms to Mickey.

Ian was driving the Acura, Tosha next to him asking him all sorts of questions. Some that he didn't want to answer and others that were none of her business. She seemed to be very curious- and nosey.

"How'd you meet him?" She asked as she chomped loudly on a piece of spearmint gum he had given her.

"Mickey? College." He lied.

"Pfff! Yeah right!." 

He gave her a hard look before admitting the truth. "I met him at my old job. He was a... customer, I guess."

"How long ago was that?"

"Well I was 15 then and I'm 25 now so, off and on about 10 years." Ian was surprised as those words came out of his mouth. He couldn't believe it had truly been that long.

Tosha looked at him. "You said off and on so you guys broke up? Why'd you guys break up?"

"Well," Ian was about to go into a long, detailed rant of their past when he stopped himself realizing there was points to the story that he didn't want Tosha knowing. "No. My turn for questions. How the hell do you know where I live?"

"Easy." She shrugged. "Snuck into the employee records at the youth center and found your address."

Ian blinked, shaking his head in disbelief. "Wh- what?! Oh my god, you can't do that! And don't tell me shit like that!"

"You asked!"

 _Finally._ He thought to himself as they pulled up to the clinic. He shut off the engine and unbuckled his seat belt, ready to get out and walk.

"What are you doing?"

"Going in." He looked at her suspiciously before he realized what she was getting at. "What, you don't want me to go?"

She blinked, a blank expression on her face.

"Okay, okay. That's fine." He shuffled awkwardly, putting his seatbelt back on and starting the car again. "I'll pick you up after? Drive you home?" He offered.

She removed her seatbelt, grabbing her purse and hopping out of the car.

“No, that’s alright. Casey is gonna pick me up.” She reached in her purse for another Snickers bar, the smell of cigarettes unleashing from the bag.

Ian didn’t like the sound of that. He knew Casey from youth group when she was temporarily one of his students and remembered that skipping school, going to raves on the Ave and popping Ecstasy were her common pastimes. She slithered out of the system when she turned 18 so they dropped her truancy case and pulled her from youth counseling but she was still a rebellious delinquent. She drove an old beat up Honda and would wait for Tosha outside of group occasionally, smoking pot and listening to shitty rap. She was what most would call a bad influence but she was what Mickey would call an no-good bitch. Not to mention she was driving a 15 year old around the ghetto. She wasn’t someone he wanted Tosha hanging around, but he wasn’t in any position to decide that for her. 

She was about to walk away towards the front door when he thought quickly. Even if she did get dropped off at home later, she would be coming back to nothing but a freezing, empty house. He couldn’t stand to think of her alone in a cold home by herself. He opened the glove box fetching an old receipt and a pen. He wrote down his phone number and the apartment key code.

“Here,” He handed her over the piece of paper. “If you need to get in the house, push in the code and wait for it to buzz and it’ll unlock. I’ll leave the key under the mat.” He gave her an innocent smile.

She stared at the numbers thoughtfully, looking back up at him with big, bright green eyes. “Are… you sure?” She sounded shocked.

He thought of Mickey for a split second, wondering if he should have talked it over him with him first or at least gave him a heads up, but he nodded assertively. “Positive.” He smiled again before she shut the car door he watched her walk into the clinic.

***** 

Ian didn’t have to go to work until the next day, his late shift, which meant he would be joining Mickey at the club for another late night. He didn’t have anything to do on his day off other than hangout with him, and he had no objection to spending more time with his man, bullshitting around and helping out where he was needed. So far today no one had called out for their shift and no cascading failures seemed to have taken place, but Ian knew that all could change as soon as they walked through the front doors.

Tonight was the last night of Iggy’s visit and if he didn’t leave tomorrow morning, he was over staying his welcome, though Ian didn’t mind at all. He knew Mickey would say something. He usually got annoyed with him not leaving when he was expected to but he would let it blow over. There was a point in time when Iggy had slept on their couch so long there was a permanent indent where his ass laid, night after night. Mickey acted irritated and bombarded with his brother’s presence, but Ian knew he would never throw him out on the street. He would never turn his back on his family. The family that mattered. Iggy had never been to the club, most likely because he didn’t want any dudes getting the wrong idea, but tonight he had nothing better to do so he was tagging along, insisting that other gay men will know he’s straight. Every time he mentioned it, Ian and Mickey exchanged looks of amusement. 

Ian was already excited for another night, getting ready and picking out his outfit. He enjoyed laying his clothes out on the bed while he did his hygiene, where as Mickey threw on whatever he could fine, but still looked more than presentable. Tonight, Ian chose a pair of black jeans with a dark maroon top to match. He was in the bathroom placing toothpaste on his toothbrush when he felt a light kiss on his neck, the hairs rising across his skin.

“I feel like we never get a second alone.” 

Mickey’s whispered in a soft and tender tone, but he was serious. He continued kissing him, planting a number of peck on him before Ian turned around, leaning on the back of the counter. He sighed.

“I know. Because we haven’t lately. We’ll make time. I'll make time.” He assured him. He laid a small kiss on his lips before sticking the toothbrush in his mouth.

Mickey looked relieved but Ian could tell his response wasn’t good enough. If they didn’t get enough alone time together, he would soon become very short tempered and tense. He knew that they would have to break away form all the chaos sooner than later.

After a few final touches and a spritz of DKNY New York, Ian’s favorite scent that Mickey had given to him as a birthday gift, he was ready to hit the town. He was putting on his shoes, completing his look when Iggy was already at the front door, harassing everyone to hurry up. Ian took one good look at him and shook his head in disbelief.

“Wow, you never cease to surprise me.”

Iggy seemed to look as if he just rolled out of bed. His hair was untamed and he wore grey sweatpants with a pair of Nike sandals to complete the ensemble. 

“What?” He said defensively. “I’m not trying to fuckin impress anyone.” 

Ian chuckled. “Clearly.”

Just then, Mickey entered the living room in his get-up, nothing but a pair of jeans and a simple black button up. A common outfit but it still impressed Ian each time he wore it.

He smiled as he took in his appearance. “You look nice.” 

Mickey walked over to him, giving him a kiss on the lips then pinching his cheek playfully. “Not as nice as you.” He winked, flashing him that irresistible corner smile and that's all it took for Ian to swoon, eyes twinkling.

“Alright, alright. Let’s go love birds.” Iggy opened the door, letting them exit first.

*****

When they arrived at the front door Mickey was already tested by the amount of bums outside the entrance, begging for change and drinking cheap beer from paper bags.

“Hey… Hey! Why don’t you guys stand in front of the White Swallow down on 3rd ave, huh? Go beg for fuckin money there!” He shouted, shooing them from the door. They scurried away but still lingered around.

When they walked in Ian was pleased to hear the upbeat house music which meant that Julian was back on set. Though he had attendance issues, he truly was the best of the best. He had the most badass music selection and astounding timing, which was hard to come by these days. Mickey removed his jacket, walking on the other side of the bar and hanging it on a staff coat rack. Ian took his seat as he flagged down Manny to bring him his usual poison. He popped of the bottle cap and slid it to him across the metallic bar top.

“How’s it looking tonight?” Mickey asked Manny as he started pouring himself a whiskey straight. 

Manny was shaking a martini, looking around and scanning the atmosphere. “So far so good, boss. No calls outs, no disasters, no unwanted touching.”

“Well that’s always good. More than we could ask for.” Ian interjected as he took a hefty gulp of his beer.

“Honey, around here, that’s a miracle.” He was about to pour the martini when he took a double take at Iggy as he took a seat next to Ian. He smiled widely. “Oh, and who might this be?”

“This is Iggy!” Ian proudly introduced him giving him a rough slap on the back. “Mickey’s brother.”

Manny looked surprised as he glanced at Mickey, a flashy grin on his dark face. “You didn’t tell me you had a brother!” 

“Yeah, just don’t listen to anything he says and make sure you tell every guy in sight he’s single.” Mickey took a sip from his glass, not able to hide a smile.  
Ian broke out in laughter.

Iggy scoffed. “Real fuckin funny assholes.”

As the night continued Ian was thankful that no disasters had occurred and things were running smoothly overall. He could always tell when the joint was running well because Mickey was noticeably less tense, mingling around with customers and joking with employees, but his business demeanor never fully left. He still had hawk eyes, watching the place like his life depended on it. It was always comforting seeming him less strained and more relaxed. The whiskey was probably added to the ease. Ian had just polished off his sixth beer when he had unknowingly switched to vodka. Manny was passing him and Iggy free shots of Absolute for most of the night and they were feeling absolutely no pain what so ever. Iggy was actually enjoying himself, nudging Ian’s shoulder as he danced to the techy beats, even fist pumping in the crowd at one point. It was entertaining to watch and it was making Ian combust in laughter, him and Manny cheering him on each time he returned to the bar top. 

When Iggy returned to the crowd, Ian sat back and observed the men dancing on the elevated platformed stages. They certainly were good, and they were attracting a wide ranged audience full of various age groups. Mickey had mentioned something about a bachelor party coming with a count of 20 coming in later in evening which he was anxious for. Drunk, happy people meant more tips and more revenue which only pushed business further. He watched as Michael, one of their best guys give an older man a lap dance as he tucked two 20’s in his plaid shorts. Part of Ian missed the money he made, how he would start his shift broke and walk out 300 bucks richer, but he knew those days were over. He had grown out of his dancer days even though he knew good and well he could still get up there and shake was he had, dancing circles around those other guys, but Mickey would never let it happen. _You’re not showing the whole world your ass. Not on my fuckin watch._ He heard the words perfectly in his head.

Though his mind seemed to be wandering off into different dimensions, he instantly snapped back to real life as his eyes found their way to Mickey’s in the depths of the crowd. This distanced stare sent a series of chills down his spine and he could feel the hairs on his arms rise as he observed Mickey grin at him, licking his lips attractively. He mouthed the words "I love you." Ian gave him a wink, mouthing a response back. He sighed in wonder as his gestures always seemed to uplift him, filling his head with stars. After Mickey lost his focus to another server with a question, Ian found his chance to make his was to the bathroom and release his bladder. He had been sitting on a barstool consuming nothing but liquid for the last hour so a toilet break was much needed. He rose from his seat, stumbling a little but still managing to keep his balance. He made his way to the opposite side of the bar and into the restrooms. As he walked in he heard muffled chatter coming from the far left stall. He bent down to get a closer look and realizing there were two men in the stall together. Ian sighed, rolling his eyes as he knew what he was about to step into. Since Mickey became owner of the club there was no longer any quickies in the bathroom. He knocked on the door, pushing open the stall door.

"Alright guys. Enough of that-" When his eyes finally fixed on the sight before him he went into a deep rage. One man was leaning over the toilet top, filling his nose with a white power while the other had a glass bubble pipe in his hand. If there was one thing that would get the club shut down it would be junkies having a fix on the property. Before Ian could say anything else one of the men plowed him with a fist to the face, hitting him in the nose and attempting to knock him out but it was going to take much more than that to get Ian on the ground. If this is how they wanted to play, he would play. Before he could get blown with another hit he grabbed the man by his jacket, slamming his head into the stall wall so hard he slithered to the ground, groaning in agony. The other man stuggled wiith him slightly, trying his hardest to take him down but Ian easily over powered him, keeing him in the stomach with such a force he held his gut, gasping for air. Without another second wasted he grabbed them both and practically dragged them outside of the stall, through the bathroom and back into the club where he saw Mickey at the bar counting a register. He caught a glimpse of him carrying two injured men and his expression changed dramatically. He came rushing over, interviening the situation.

"What the fuck is going on?!" He demanded.

"These two assholes were getting loaded in the fucking bathroom! Get them the fuck outta here!" He shouted as he shoved them forward. At that very moment Clarence, one of the oversized bouncers came running over, grabbing them by the collars of their clothing much like Ian did. Mickey motioned to take them outside. Ian sniffed as he felt wet beads of what he thought was snot coming from his nose. He wiped it away, looking at his palm and learning he had blood pouring from his nostrils.

"This ain't over dickhead!" One of the men shouted as he was being forced to the back exit. Ian flipped him off.

"Fuck you!" He yelled so loudly he was heard by everyone, even over the heavy music. "You junkie piece of shit!-" Ian was yelling behind his shoulder as Mickey was pulling him to the back office.

*****

The club was closed for the night. Mickey and Ian hadn't had a chance to talk about what happened since he left him alone in the office while he still managed the floor. He came back a couple hours later, hands full of tils to count. He pushed open the door not even making eye contact with him, going straight for the desk and began counting.

Ian stretched on the couch, putting his phone down after playing seven games of soltaire. "Hey." He said sheepishly.

Silence. Mickey didn't even glance at him.

Ian groaned in annoyance. "Come on, you're mad at me?"

He still didn't respond, counting away dilligentaly. 

"You have no fuckin reason to be mad at me but whatever..." He sprawled back out on the office couch.

There was more silence until finally Mickey had something to say. 

"Tell me why it's not okay for me to clock the asshole who calls us faggots after the hockey game but it's totally okay to beat up some crackheads in the bathroom?" He put down his cash as he stared up at him, eyebrows raised and ready for a response.

"I-" Ian thought he had an arguement but he sighed, searching for an answer. He had a point. "It's not okay. You're right. But we'd in huge fucking shit if this club gets shut down for drug use-"

Mickey interupted. "Fuck the club, Ian." He shook his head. "We'll be in huge fucking shit if you go back to jail. I could give a shit less about the club. There's shit going down under our noses all the time. Next time you see that, you come and get me. You don't get into a fucking fist brawl. We're walking on thin ice with our records and if you get charged with assault or some shit like that, it's over. You're going back for a long time, and I'm not having that. We got a lot to risk. If there's drug activity, I'll handle it."

"I can handle it too!" Ian almost stomped his foot like a tempered child. 

Mickey nodded. "We'll handle it. We'll do it together. And not with our fists. We gotta do things clean now. Real clean."

Ian was irritated though he couldn't help but feel somewhat turned on as Mickey spoke of their responsibilites so seriously. He decided it was best to agree with him than argue and banter like they usually did. 

"Come here." Mickey said as he stood up from his chair. He reached into his desk drawer pulling out a clean white cloth then dipped in his whiskey glass. Ian shuffled over, leaning on the desk as he began cleaning his wound. He winced a little as he put pressure on the bridge of his sore nose. 

"Does that hurt?" He asked in concern. Ian shook his head in denial. 

"Not at all. Those pricks were weak." He smiled and Mickey laughed at him.

"Come on, tough guy." He slapped his left butt cheek. "Let's go close down."

Thankfully Ricardo actually made it to work tonight and successfully completed most of the closing cleaning and chair stacking. There was just a few loose ends to tie up and they could leave for the night. Iggy was passed out at the bar, a drink still in his hand as his snoring echoed the empty club. Mickey was by the back stage in the sound room making sure the system was off. After Ian had restocked the bottles for the the next shift, he looked around him, making sure the coast was clear. No one was in sight. Everyone had left except Iggy who was in an alcohol induced sleep. Besides his snoring, the whole place was mute. He placed the last bottle of Smirnoff in it's place when he found his perfect chance. He tiptoed swiftly to the sound room, being as steathly as possible so Mickey wouldn't suspect him coming. As he enetered, he saw him pushing buttons.

He heard Mickey talking quietly to himself. "Why the fuck is the treble so low?" 

Ian snuck behind him, sliding his hands around his waist, unbuckling his belt. His plan seemed to have worked as Mickey jumped, cussing and grabbing his chest.

"You said we never get a second alone..." Ian whispered gently in his ear. He could see the imprint of a smile in his cheek.

He laughed slyly. "Not if you can't catch me first."

Ian stood in place trying to fathom his words when Mickey was already gone in a flash, zooming past him and out of the tiny room in an instant. He accepted the challenge as he raced behind him, darting into the main stage area. They wizzed between platforms like a maze, weaving and bobbing over obstacles. Ian jumped over a small speaker as Mickey continued to gain speed ahead of him. He watched as he finally approached the back stage, hoisting himself over the edge and running to the side around the black curtain, trying to conceal himself behind the giant cloth. Ian laughed as he jumped over the stage and wrapped himself inside the curtain.

"You can't hide from me..." Ian began poking Mickey in his lower abdomen as he broke out in contagious laughter. They both laughed together until the seriousness of the moment caught up with them. Ian gave him another hypnotic stare, much like the one they exchanged earlier in the night but this time, he had him in his reach, all to himself. Mickey bit his lip just before Ian pulled in. Their mouths came together with the force of magnets, both open and lusting for touch. As soon as Mickey's tongue met his he felt the crotch of his pants become tighter and less comfortable. Mickey was wrapping his hands around his the back of his head in a gentle but stern grip as he shoved his face further into his, meanwhile Ian's hands were already unbuttoning his jeans. He broke away from his mouth with a smile as he began to sink down to the floor. Mickey looked around him frantically, trying to see around the curtain.

"Right now?!" He questioned. Rarely did Ian see Mickey innocently stressed, but now was one of those times. It was entertaining.

"Right now." He replied with certainty.

"What- What about Iggy?" He was still looking over his shoulder.

"What about him?" Ian asked hoping his question sounded rhetorical. Mickey's worrying seemed to subside when Ian successfully got his pants around his ankles.

Ian didn't even have to touch his dick as it was already rock hard, waiting for the warmth of his mouth. Mickey reached his hands around the base as if to make it easier for him to perform. He stuck his tongue out playfully as he traced around the head of him, effortlessly licking but remaining focused. Mickey was an interesting lover as he enjoyed being teased where as most men wanted to go straight to the sucking, but Ian knew what Mickey liked and had no problem pleasing his man to the fullest and turning it into a fine, developed art. He could already hear small but deep sighs coming from above as he began to open his mouth wider, forming the tip over his lips. He was providing more lubrication as his saliva produced faster, making it easier to slide down further. Mickey must have been feeling impatient as he felt him push on the back of his head causing him to graze the back of his throat. It had been a couple days since their last intimate contact, and he was like a gas tank ready to explode. Ian smiled as he took this gesture seriously, sucking harder and gaining a little more speed. Deeper and deeper he went as the breathy sighs turned into low, pleasuring moans...

Before Ian could continue his oral pleasing, he was surprised when he felt Mickey pull away, a stream of spit still connected to his cock. Ian was looking up at him curiously.

"Turn around." He ordered. He was breathing heavily and his face had an animalistic gaze, much like a preditor oberving it's prey before devouring it. Ian didn't hesitate as he unbuckled his pants, pulling them down quicker than ever and getting on all fours. He had lost count on how many time they fooled around in the club after hours but each time was even more exciting than the last, a new and enticing conquest to challenge them...

Ian arched his ass up and his back down as low as possible so Mickey could have easy access. He knew he loved getting a full view of what he was after before going in. Though Ian mostly topped during sex, every once in awhile Mickey got the sudden urge to take over and be in control. That was usually Ian's expertise but he gladly let him take over the role of dominance. And he was damn good at it. He could feel his hands exporing him, touching every inch of his ass and gripping his cheeks before spitting in between them. He felt Mickey shift a little before he pushed in slowly but firmly and they both let out relieving moans in unison. It didn't take long for him to fully enter and by the sound of it he seemed pleased, cussing and groaning. Ian could feel him hang his head down and shake behind him as the enjoyment surged through his body.

"Fuck..." He whispered. "I love being inside you..." 

Mickey's words were in the heat of the moment, but undoubtedley genuine. Ian smiled, his face smashed onto the stage floor. He had a thought about how dirty it probably was but no matter, they would be showering when they arrived home. He had nothing to grip onto but instead extended his arms out and flattened his palms on the shiny ground before he fucked him. Mickey pressed his hands on Ian's lower back causing him to sink further down. He pumped for a minute or so before Ian raised himself upwards, sitting and holding himself up with his arms as Mickey was able to bend his knees, grabbing his hips and pushing him down onto his cock making it easy to find the perfect bouncing motion. Once they found the right spot, it was now that Mickey was on a mission to get them both off. Very seldom did Ian climax from anal but when done right, he had no trouble succeeding, thanks to Mickey.

He accomplished the perfect rhythmic motion and Ian didn't have to do much besides hold himself upright and enjoy the ride. He raised his head up in pleasure, the pink, purple and white lights above them shining in his eyes. He grunted with each pump inside of him, nearly panting as hard as Mickey was, trying to be quiet but failing miserably. It was difficult being in this position, against the floor with his huge hard on between his legs but he managed just fine. He could feel him smash harder into his prostate causing him to tense up and pulse unavoidably. Mickey responded as he let out a high pitched whimper, the feeling of Ian's tightening was sending him into a blissful abyss.

He wasn't the only one enjoying the moment as Ian's grunts turned into heavy, delighted moans, another satisfying smile appearing on his face as he realized how turned on he was.

"Oh shit, Mick." Ian continued smiling as Mickey was still plowing away, wrecking his ass considerably.

"I'm... I'm gonna cum..." He could barely speak through his breathing. "I can't... hold it any longer..."

That was quick.

It was true, he couldn't. And neither could Ian. 

"That's it." Ian clenched tightly, tensing every muscle in his longing body, closing his eyes and preparing for what was next. "That's it. Right there." He reassured Mickey as he continued to pump but he didn't respond. He could only feel him increasing momentum as he was about to blow. With one final pelvic thrust, Mickey was releasing inside of him, staying in place while Ian reached his hand around his ass and pushed his hips against him, forcing him to go as deep as possible. Ian's turn came just as fast as closed his eyes once more, a vivid array of colors blinding his eyelids while every last nerve ending in his body danced together beautifully and the feeling of total fulfillment fell over him like a long awaited reward. Mickey was still stuck inside of him making sure they both endured every second of pleasure.

When they both decided the time was right, they finally released from each other.

“Okay now, I’m officially ready for bed.” Ian said as he gathered his clothing. Iggy’s snores seemed to come back to his hearing as he must have tuned them out during their session. Before Ian could put his jeans over hit waist Mickey extended his hand out and gave him a quick slap. He looked back at him acting totally surprised. 

“Come on, let’s blow the joint.” Mickey pulled a cigarette out of his pack, sticking it in his mouth before handing one to Ian.

“Ahhh, yes!” Ian groaned in relief as he accepted the smoke like a piece of valuable treasure.

They both jumped down from the stage at the same time walking across the deserted club and heading for the door. They stopped at the bar where Iggy was still in a sleepy coma.

“We should just leave him.” Mickey joked as he nudged him in the side.

Iggy woke up suddenly, staring at them through squinted eyes and it was obvious he had absolutely no clue what had just taken place on the opposite side of the room.

“Fuck, I drank way too much guys…”

“We know.” Both Ian and Mickey responded together.

They gathered their things, Mickey taking one last look around the place before shutting off the lights and locking the front entrance.

*****

After they both hauled Iggy up the stairwell and he hung over each of their arms, they finally made it to the door. Ian unlocked it, stepping in and throwing his keys on the coffee table. 

He was startled as he saw someone’s body part move in the corner of his eye. There, laying sprawled out on the couch, sleeping soundly and looking remarkably comfortable was Tosha. She had a pizza box sitting on her chest with her purse just below her, some of the contents spilled out on the floor. He had forgotten he’d given her the apartment key and code until the very second he laid eyes on her. Without another passing moment the antagonizing tone of Mickey’s booming voice was so loud it bounced of the walls shooting right into the base of Ian’s eardrums. 

“Are you fucking serious Ian?!”

Here we go. He didn’t have a reply but he was ready for a battle. He opened his mouth to speak even though he was unsure what words would come out.

“Don’t. Save your breathe.” He strutted back over to the door, opening it and letting cool air flow in. “It’s not the fact that she’s here, Ian. it’s the fuckin’ principal. Just like we talked about at the club tonight; I can’t knock a dude out for opening his ugly mouth but you can put your hands on some pricks at the club? Double standard. I check with you first before Iggy stays, but you don’t check with me before she crashes here?” He pointed in his face. “Double fucking standards!” _SLAM._

Ian still had his eyes closed from when he prepared himself for the door slam.

Iggy plopped into the recliner. “He’s right, you know.”

Without noticing Ian seemed to get in his face out of pure reflex. “You wanna sleep outside?” He revealed an evil grin while Iggy put his hands up in surrender, leaning back in his seat looking quite frightened.

He glanced over at Tosha who hadn’t moved an inch. He sighed, looking back at the door Mickey had just stormed out of.

“You’re not gonna go after him?” 

Ian jumped once he heard Tosha’s voice break in the dead silence, twisting his neck in her direction. He glared at her, his eyes piercing.

“Mind your business.” He snapped. He left them both in the living room without another word.

He hadn’t even removed his shoes or coat yet. He walked over to the window looking passed the streetlight and onto the sidewalk, his eyes peeled for any sight of Mickey. Not only was he nowhere to be seen but their car that he had just parked on the side of the street was also gone.

“God damnit Mick.” He muttered. He pulled out his phone quickly finding his contact and calling. It went straight to voicemail.

He plopped on the bed, leaning to the side and laying there, fully clothed. Was he really that mad? And where did he go? Every known business was closed at this hour. As he laid his mind was reeling. Maybe Mickey was right. Maybe he needed to communicate to him more and be fair. Maybe he was an asshole.

Maybe he should have gone after him…

Guilt was setting in mixed with slight panic. Where was he? When would he come back? What if he didn’t return? Now he regretted not chasing him down the stairs. 

~

Ian had been awake for hours now, the sun was just rising and he was heavy with exhaustion, but his worry outweighed his desire to sleep. He had been shaking his foot annoyingly and biting the inside of his cheek out of pure nerves. What if he got into an accident? What if he got a DUI and was in locked up? Ian gulped. He was still in his day clothes not even caring to change as he stayed in the same spot, struck with anxiety.

Suddenly he heard the bedroom door handle turn. His heart fluttered with anticipation. To his astonishing belief, Mickey entered. His cheeks a rosy, flushed pink and his lips tinted blue from the sting of the cold. His frosty eyes were fixed on him.

Ian shot up straight in the bed like he was rose from the dead. He stuttered. “H- Hi.” 

Mickey had a visible expression of shame. He kept his eyes on him but looked apprehensive. “Hey.”

He dragged his feet over to the bed, removing his jacket and completely stripping down to his boxers. Ian did the same in complete silence, sliding awkwardly into bed and under the comforter. They both laid there, quiet.

“I’m sorry.” Mickey admitted, his voice cracking like he didn’t want to speak.

Ian’s eyes were filling with small tears but he kept them in place, avoiding crying at all costs. Mickey shifted positions, turning to face him and sliding his hands under his pillow. Ian had the desire to scream at him, to yell and to tell him to never leave again but he knew he didn’t have to. Mickey would never do it again. 

No more words were exchanged. Maybe that was part of their problem and the root of some issues, but in this very moment, quiet felt right.

It felt perfect.

Ian reached his hand over to his boyfriend’s face, the coldness of him throbbing on his fingertips, then icing his palm. He scooted closer, inching his head in, their noses almost grazing. He stroked his face slowly but then rested his hand on his cheek trying to secrete some warmth. He wrapped his legs over his freezing body. He must have been outside for a long while. He smelled of stale cigarettes and Old Style. He took in every inch of him, staring into his enlarged pupils. He traced his hand from his face down to his neck, then over his back, rubbing lovingly and providing warmth. Though he could stare at him for an eternity if he was allowed to, he interrupted his admiration with a light kiss. Their lips hit frictionally as they stayed locked together, savoring every second. He received Mickey’s tongue eagerly and let is dance with his. A few more soft kisses and they broke apart, the smell of his pheromones soothing him almost like a mystifying love potion.

"I love you," Ian said with remarkable assertion.

Mickey rubbed his nose on his. "I love you." 

They were both worn out.

While intertwined in their passions they somehow, together, drifted off into dreamland…


	4. Russian Roulette.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING!!!!!!!!!!!!: GRAPHIC CONTENT.  
> **  
>  *Rape triggers*  
> *Violence*

Though it was another harsh winter in Chicago, in between the flurries of snowfall there were breaks of sunshine during the frosty mornings. The sunlight was blaring though the window, peaking through the curtains and gleaming into their bedroom. Ian squinted his eyes, rubbing his face and wincing uncomfortably as he mistakenly grazed his beaten nose. It throbbed in pain. He opened his eyes just enough to read the clock on the nightstand. 

To his surprise, it was actually 3:26 in the afternoon. 

Ian had then remembered they both fell asleep in the early morning. He sat up onto the edge of the bed, groaning loudly as he felt the full effect of the bar brawl from the night before. That, and a pulsing headache due to vodka consumption. He stretched, yawning deeply as he itched the back of his shoulder blade. The urge for a cigarette came over him suddenly as the bright red pack flashed in the corner of his eye. He removed one from the pack instantly, grabbing a lighter which was conveniently placed to the side. He glanced behind his back as he took a drag, smiling as his eyes fell on Mickey. The comforter was wrapped around his waist revealing only his abdomen. His hands were tucked under his pillow and to Ian's surprise, his eyes were open, gazing back up at him. The sun light was shining into them ever so perfectly, illuminating their vibrant ocean blue pigment. 

"Morning." Ian smiled. He leaned over, kissing the top of his forehead. He pulled back and saw Mickey was ready to speak but was interrupted by loud, booming conversation coming from the living room. His eyebrows immediately furrowed in annoyance though Ian found it adorable.

They both finally rolled out of bed, dressed and freshened up. When Ian made his way down the long hallway and into the living room he was overwhelmed with shock when he realized who was behind the loud voice. He thought it sounded familiar...

"MANDY!?" He shouted. Before she could even look up in response Ian was already lunging towards her, attacking her on the couch and wrapping her into a tight, constricting hug. 

She could barely get her words out. "You're squishing me." She whispered.

He ignored her, still squeezing her lovingly. When he finally broke away, he grabbed her shoulders to observe her and get a good look at her presence. She looked vivacious, her bright energy lighting up the room. It was a rare occurrence for Mandy as she spent many years in dark solitude, roaming the streets and working a dangerous escort job.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Mickey was taking a puff from a cigarette trying his very hardest to hide a smile but even he couldn't contain the excitement of seeing his sister after so long apart.

Ian was still looking at her with big eyes, curious to hear her recent endeavors.

“Eh, all over the place.” She shrugged. “Hitch hiked from Chicago all the way to upstate New York. Stayed there for a while with a… friend. Made a little money, then went down to New Orleans and got my massage license…”

“Massage license? So you’re happy ending certified now?” Mickey chuckled but flinched as Ian smacked him in the chest.

She flashed him a dirty look. “Funny.” 

“How come you’re back?” Ian asked, the curiosity eating him.

“Well, back in New Orleans I was running a business out of the back of my apartment. I wasn’t licensed or bonded so those assholes summoned me to court. I never went, so I got a warrant down there. Which leads me to my next point…”

Ian watched Mickey stand up suddenly, throwing his hands in the air.

“Are you fuckin serious Mandy?”

“It’s just for a few weeks!” She assured him. “Just until I get on my feet and find some work! Then I’ll be out! I swear.”

“My mom did that.” Tosha interjected out of nowhere. “Her boyfriend’s got warrants. She took off.”

Mickey completely ignored her. “A few weeks my ass! You’re on the fuckin run from the law and you just pop in and ask to crash here? ‘Oh, hi bro, I know you got out of prison recently but I need somewhere to hide!’ What the fuck?”

Mandy shook her head. “I’m not really hiding, I just left the state that’s trying to find me.”

“Oh yeah, right. My bad. No biggie.” Mickey’s sarcasm stung the room. 

Ian didn’t have much input on the conversation. He loved Mandy and wouldn’t mind her staying with them but after their disagreement they had the night before, the ball was in Mickey’s court. He kept his lips zipped.

“Does this look like a fuckin homeless shelter?”

Everyone’s eyes in the room seemed to shift to Tosha who was sitting on the couch eating a Snickers bar, her black hair in a shaggy mop on her head.

“Kinda does.” Iggy responded.

“Shut the fuck up, okay?! Pretty sure your two-day stay expired yesterday, pal.”

Iggy sunk back in his seat.

“Well we gotta figure out where everyone’s sleeping….” Ian said finally, attempting to be helpful. Mickey huffed irritably. 

“Kid stays on the couch, Mandy can stay in the spare bedroom and Iggy moves to the office.” He said sternly.

“The office barely has any fuckin’ room!” Iggy whined.

Iggy was right. The office was a bigger, more massive version of the dining room. Bills, papers and folders stacked in various piles only some were on the floor rather than just the desk. Ian was embarrassed to have him sleep there but it was the only option at this point.

“Oh, okay well I’m sure the gutter at the end of the street is plenty roomy!” Mickey turned and made a dramatic exit down the hallway, mumbling some derogatory remarks under his breath.

Ian was about to speak when he noticed Tosha in the corner of his eye, sneaking out the door. Her matted hair was now in a neat ponytail and her clothes were changed.

“Where are you going?” He asked, trying not to sound too over bearing.

“Casey’s picking me up.” She answered quickly and slipped out the doorway before Ian could ask any further questions. He sighed in defeat.

“Who’s the homeless pregnant juvenile?” Mandy asked.

"Long story." He put his hand up as if he didn't want to make any other commentary on the matter. Mandy didn't push the subject any further.

"FUCK!"

Ian jumped as Mickey came storming back into the room looking even more stressed, his phone clenched in his hand.

"Ms. Chang from next door said the toilets are fucking flooding again! She thinks her fried dog food kitchen is so fuckin' important! I thought we tightened the pipes last time?"

"We did," Ian nodded. "But we need to hire a plumber. A real plumber."

"Just what I fuckin' need right now. My club is flooded and I've got the ghetto Brady bunch in my fuckin' living room..." He glared back at his siblings. "I'll deal with you bozos later." He grabbed his coat and headed for the door as Ian followed behind him, waving a quick goodbye to the two of them. 

\---

Mickey and Ian made their way up the flight of stairs, completely soaked in contaminated toilet water. After fixing a busted pipe for the past three hours they were both drenched, their feet slopped up the stairs with each step the took. A shower was first on the agenda.

They were just entering the apartment as Mickey was bitching up a storm, complaining about Ms.Chang's lack of knowledge in plumbing. As he opened the door he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes glued to the inside of the apartment. Ian pushed him aside to get a view at what he was gaping at. 

There, standing in the middle of their living room in a pink dress was Svetlana. Ian blinked repeatedly, not knowing if the sight before him was real. She turned her head and smiled, a little warmer than the usual sly grin he was more than familiar with. 

“What—” Mickey was stuttering. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?!” He shouted.

She was smoking a cigarette, a cloud of smoke escaping her teeth as she spoke. She nodded her head towards Tosha. “Nice girl on couch let me in.”

She had a piece of paper in her hand she seemed to have grabbed off the dining room table. Mickey walked over and ripped it from her long, talon like fingers.

“Get the fuck out!” He screamed.

“Tosha,” Ian pointed his finger in her face. “You don’t ever, ever let anyone in this house when we’re not here. Do you hear me?”

“Is that how you treat friends?” Svetlana asked. She placed a hand on her hip as she turned her whole body towards them. Now that the rest of her face was into view Ian could see the disturbing sight before him. Her right eye was nearly swelled shut and was surrounded by oozing puss from a massive abrasion on her head. The wound was elevated, bubbled up and discolored like it had developed a festering infection. The eye itself was the worst of the infection but the wound spread all over her face, down to her neck and even ran across chest. She was covered in bruises, scratch marks and had a chunk of hair missing from her scalp, revealing a large bald spot. Ian couldn’t help but wince in disgust. 

They were both silent as they stared at her.

“Ugly, isn’t it?” She sat down on the chair in the living room where she flicked her cigarette in the ashtray. “After all my whoreing in Russia I have never had injury this bad.”

“You need to leave.” Ian said, motioning towards the front door.

She sighed. “Will you let me speak?” Her good eye stared up at both of them. She looked helpless and glum, but Ian didn’t buy it.

“Hell no. Get out.” Mickey reached for her wrist when she shrieked in pain, backing into the chair like an abused child.

Just then, someone popped from behind the recliner. A blond haired boy with the same snake like eyes as his mother’s…

“Yev?” Ian whispered. 

“Didn’t you marry some old geriatric fuck? Go whine to him.” Mickey still had his guard up but Ian could tell he was easing off a bit after seeing her child. His child.

“Old man is dead.” She said flatly. “I inherit money.”

“Yeah? Good for you. I’m sure you deserve every fucking penny.” Ian snapped. He walked towards the door, opening it and showing her the way out.

Mickey’s eyebrows were raised. He waved his hand as if to shoo her away. “ _Go._ ”

Svetlana stared at the both of them, standing up but not moving. She took another long drag of her cigarette.

“Five hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” The smoke she released formed a cloud in the center of them. 

“Sounds like you can afford to get your face fixed then.” Ian smirked. The comment came out meaner than he intended but she seemed to not be phased by it. 

“Old husband die of heart attack in his sleep three weeks ago. I thought I would get 1.5 million but his shitty American children get most of the money. I live in big house, me and Yevgeny and older son who stays to take care of father. Three nights ago he takes me into downstairs study. He lights fire and we drink strong vodka for many hours. After much time, he grabs my neck, throws me onto the ground and tries to stick his ugly cock into me. I fight for my life like I have never fought before.” Yevgeny came from behind the recliner, clinging to his mother’s side as she spoke. His pale eyes looked weak. She took a deep breath before she continued. “I did not give up. I fought him as he beat and raped me on the ground. After I kept kicking and slapping he scooped ball of coals from fire and throw on my face, then piss in my eye.” She put out her cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table. Ian and Mickey both stood there in silence, watching her as her story came to life. The markings left over from her traumatic experience were nothing short of haunting. The hair on the back of Ian’s neck stood up in fear as the images she described played in his head like a horror movie.

“Dirty fucking rich pig.” She spoke quietly, staring off into space. Ian had never seen Svetlana cry and figured she would lose it. He could have sworn she was getting choked up, but she didn’t let it show.

He watched Mickey walk over to the couch and plop down, leaning forward and folding his hands together. Tosha scooted over, watching the both of them intently. Ian shut the door. 

“Are we supposed to feel bad for you?” Mickey asked seriously.

“I do.” Tosha butted in.

Ian nudged her. “Quiet.” He ordered.

“No.” Svetlana replied. “I am not asking for you or Orange Boy’s sympathy.”

“Then what are you asking for?” Ian began. “Because we both know there’s always a catch.”

“Funny how the tables turn,” Mickey stated, now lighting a cigarette for himself. “The raper becomes the rapey.” He chuckled.

“You find it funny?” She accused.

“Did you?” He snapped.

There was a long pause before she continued.

“I was young girl from soviet country. Your piece of shit father promised me he’d take care of me. He’d give me a home and good job. Instead, he knock me up with baby and dump me on son who has boyfriend.” She explained.

Ian’s face changed. “Hold on. Knocked you up?”

She nodded. “Yevgeny is father’s baby. Your brother.” 

Ian shifted his glance towards Mickey who looked just as confused as he felt.

“The kid’s not mine?” He asked, staring at Yevgeny who was twirling a piece of frayed thread on his striped shirt.

She rolled her eyes. “Do not act surprised. We only fuck three times and you never come inside me. I tried. I sweat like hog riding your limp penis but you close your eyes and only think of Orange Boy.” 

Ian was blushing unavoidably, and so was Mickey.

Tosha was cackling to herself. 

“Why don’t you go in the kitchen and make something to eat.” Ian suggested to her.

“I’m not hungry.” 

“You’re pregnant. You’re always hungry. Now get lost.” He pushed her off the couch where he sat next to Mickey.

“I was scared little girl from Russia. Only know how to have sex for a job. What I did was wrong…” He and Mickey leaned in closer to catch her words. “It was cruel. What I did to my family was wrong. I came to apologize.”

Ian met Mickey’s eyes before he spoke. “You came all the way here to apologize? I find that hard to believe.”

She paused, looking them both in the eyes with her only good one. “And to make an offer.”

“Of course.” Ian threw his hands in the air.

“Here we go.” Mickey sighed. 

“I take dead man’s money and invest into club. I help with books. I pay bills and remodel. Then, we move to big house with lots of bedrooms for babies.” Her tone and body language were both confident, as if there was no reason for them to refuse or question her proposal.

Mickey bursted into hysterics. “You think it’s that easy, huh? Just gonna come in here and plan our fuckin’ lives out.”

“Admit it. You need help.” 

“How do you know what we need?”

“I look at all this shit. Bills stacked to ceiling. Utilities, property taxes, payroll, bank statements…” Svetlana reached behind her to retrieve a parcel off the enormous pile of paper. “You see? This is notice from IRS. You pay no taxes. You ignore these letters, club shuts down and you lose everything.” 

Ian gave Mickey a look as if to say she was right. The two of them had no knowledge of finances and what exactly it takes to run a business. All Ian knew was Mickey had his business license and that was the extent of it. He knew that if the huge stacks of paperwork weren’t taken care of eventually, they would be in trouble.

Mickey seemed to ignore her claims completely. “Remodel? Who says we need a fuckin remodel?”

“I’ve been to shitty club. Paint is peeling, floors are sticky and it stinks of old man balls. Once bills are finished, we do remodel.” Svetlana studied both their faces then continued. “You want more customers? More money for husband and babies? Club is shithole. Remodel and make it look nice and more money come in your hands.” She winked, a smile creeping up on her beaten face. “The American Dream, no?”

Ian scoffed. “Yeah right. We know the shit you tried to pull at the Alibi with Kev and Vee. Tried to take them for everything they got and slipped the rug out from under them. Not fucking happening.”

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed. “And we’re not interested in any fucked up threesome either.”

Svetlana rolled her eyes. “I am not here for that. Consider this offer an apology.” She placed the IRS notice gently on the coffee table. “Yevgeny has not had stable childhood. He is in America. He needs structure and good place to grow up. All together we get big house in safe part of city. I pay everything. You own club. You are big business man and you and husband deserve big house. Lots of rooms. Silk sheets. Pool. All the perks of being business owner. Not overpriced apartment where pigeons shit on windows."

Ian looked behind him and stared through the giant glass window. She was right. The whole pane was covered in bird waste. He grimaced.

"Pretty girl on couch tell me she has baby in February. No room in apartment for babies." She insisted.

"That's none of your concern." Ian interjected. He could feeling Mickey's stare burning on him but he pretended not to notice. 

He glanced over into the kitchen, watching as Tosha fiddled in the fridge, fixing herself something to eat. He sighed anxiously as he remembered tomorrow he returned to work where she would be attending his youth meeting. There was already so much she had been exposed to, things Ian didn't exactly want her knowing about his personal life. If word spread that she was crashing at his place for the time being, he would be terminated with no needed explanation. The chaos of having so many people in their home was stressful, but it didn't bother Ian as much as it did Mickey. He could tell he was having a hard time with all the added pressure, and now that Svetlana had decided to drop in he was almost sure he was on the verge of another breakdown.

"So," 

Ian's thoughts were interrupted by Svetlana's persuasive voice.

"What do you think? I come in and help with books, get club back on it's feet and move into big house. Be a team." She held up a stern fist.

Mickey laughed again. "A team?"

"The books?" Ian mirrored Mickey's laughter. "Isn't that a little out of your realm of expertise?" 

"Yes, a team. I remember years ago we did it, lived together like big happy family. Until Orange Boy needed electric in his head. Now, he is all better so we move on."

Ian was intimated by Svetlana's presentation, so sure of herself and what she was conveying, but for some reason, he wasn't doubting her. He was tired of seeing paper stacks in his own home and he knew if he and Mickey continued ignoring them, they would be in a very deep hole. He had suggested that Mickey look into getting some type of assistant to help with accounting and paperwork, but he was extremely stubborn and was never willing to admit he needed any kind of help.

Now, the help was practically smacking him in the face. Svetlana's offer of working for them and buying them all a new house was gracious, but it didn't change the past, and Mickey wasn't exactly the best at letting grudges go. Ian, however, wasn't going to fight him on it. Mickey had went through a tremendous amount of trauma, and there was a time when Svetlana was the center of it, and even the cause. It wasn't sitting well with him.

Mickey was staring at Svetlana coldly, but pensively. His eyes began shifting in all directions as his mind seemed to be reeling. 

"You'll have to excuse us." He said while smashing his cigarette filter into the ashtray. There was a long pause followed by dead silence, except for Yevgeny making a bored popping sound with his mouth. Svetlana leaned back into the recliner, looking oddly comfortable.

"That means you get out of the room." Mickey said flatly. She made a puzzled face before heading towards the kitchen where she opened the fridge as if it was her own home.

Ian was studying Mickey's body language, reading him as best he could. 

"What do you think?" Ian asked.

His eyes were big and thoughtful. "What do you think?" He repeated.

"I asked you first." Ian rebutted.

He took a deep breath before he spoke. "I think I need a fuckin drink."

He nodded his head in agreement. He looked towards the kitchen again where he saw Svetlana chatting with Tosha, most likely poisoning her head with inappropriate slander. The more he thought about the whole situation, the more he could feel his blood pressure rising. The drink Mickey suggested sounded better and better with each passing second.

They both sat there on the couch, still in their soiled, drenched clothing pondering what exactly was happening. Ian felt he was having flashbacks to the Milkovich household as history seemed to be repeating itself.

It was going to be a long night...


	5. 10 Grand.

“This is horse shit. I would have stayed in fuckin’ prison if I knew I’d come home to a mob of people. Looks like my dad’s house out there.” 

Mickey’s words hit Ian uncomfortably, but he was right. Though some of the people taking advantage of their home were truly family, their roomy Chicago apartment was starting to look more and more like the old Milkovich residence… 

After they both bathed together and cleaned up, they seemed to be wasting time hiding out in their room as if to avoid Svetlana’s proposal altogether. Like the longer they waited, maybe she would leave and they wouldn’t have to face reality, but Ian knew that wouldn’t be the case. Svetlana would wait out there until hell froze over. They heard the door open earlier followed by the booming voices of a shocked Iggy and Mandy who obviously acknowledged their new guests. They knew the living room was full but continued to wait out in their bedroom, pretending they weren’t purposefully hiding.

“You got any input?” Mickey asked suddenly as he came from the bathroom, rustling his thick black hair in his towel.

Ian sighed deeply, waiting a moment before responding. In the last week or so his mind seemed to be kicked into high gear, racing nonstop with overactive thoughts. The idea of going to work the next day was nauseating. 

“Babe,” He threw his hands up in surrender. “That’s all you. Shit went down in the past. Bad shit. Real bad shit…” He reached for his pack of Marlboro’s on the nightstand, lighting one up and taking a huge satisfying drag. “But aside from that, if we don’t get our books together, we’re gonna be in deep shit. Do you want the IRS knocking on the door? Taking everything we have? I don’t. They’ll take down the club, the car…” He thought of the shiny Acura which he knew Mickey loved. “They’ll garnish our wages…” He was counting on his fingers. “All sorts of shit. Whether it’s Svetlana or Joe fuckin Shmoe handling some type of accounting, we need help. Big time. L&I claims, property taxes, payroll. The list goes on…” As he was trying to get his point across he noticed Mickey was no longer in the room and he heard the clanking of what sounded like liquor bottles coming from the bathroom. It was then he remembered the “emergency stash” underneath the sink. Though tonight it was being used under different circumstances, Ian couldn’t help but smile to himself as he thought of all the times that “emergency stash” led to some wild nights in the sack between the two of them.

Before Mickey could come around the corner asking for a glass, Ian already had one ready to hand over from the side table. He flashed a weak but relieving smile as he grabbed it from him.

“You’re right…” He continued as he was nodding in agreement. “I’m in over my fuckin head.” He itched the back of his head nervously before taking a swig of his newly poured drink.

Ian began to contest. “No. No, we’re not. We’re trying to make a living. We’re building a better life together, but it doesn’t mean we don’t need some help.”

Mickey was breaking down a wall right before his eyes.

“I know, baby.” He reached over and put his hand on Ian’s upper thigh, giving a pressed squeeze. “I just fucking try to do everything I can…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” Ian interjected. “I know everything you do, I know you work your ass off to give us a life.” He tried to hold back from getting emotional. “You don’t ever have to prove that to me. I see it, every single day.” 

They sat in silence for a few moments and Ian grabbed his drink, taking a hefty gulp from the cup himself before returning it to his hand. Mickey was staring at the ground, daydreaming as Ian studied him. He seemed to be in a daze. Once again, the bags under his eyes were terribly visible and darker than he had ever seen them, and his heart filled with a piercing sadness. He thought of him and Mickey in the future, aging together and growing older, watching those bags under his eyes never fully disappear. 

“I get it.” Mickey continued. “She wants to help or whatever the fuck, but buying a fucking house? Come on. Why? Why would she want to buy us a house?” He was clearly puzzled at the idea as he looked at Ian for a valid answer. 

He shrugged, puffing on his cigarette. “I don’t know, but I do know that guilt is a hell of a thing. Trust me.” 

Mickey considered this but Ian could tell he was still weary. “Yeah, well, there’s gotta be a fall back. If she does try and fuck us we need a back up plan.”

“Totally agree.” Ian said firmly stealing another swig from the glass.

“A house does sound pretty badass, doesn’t it?”

He was happy to see a sly smile creep on his boyfriend’s face.

“Of course it does, but we can’t give in to temptation.” He passed the cigarette to Mickey. “I say we ask for a deposit. Svetlana has proven to be an evil, snakey bitch. Who knows if her story is even true?”

“A deposit isn’t a bad idea.” He concurred. “But I don’t know… That mark on her face is pretty fuckin gnarly. It would be hard to fake that shit.”

Ian remembered the mark on her eye and nearly winced in disgust. “Mark is an understatement.” He said flatly. “Looks like it’s infected.” 

“Anyway,” Mickey put his cigarette out but immediately lit another. “We should ask her for ten grand. If she’s as serious as she says she is and is so fuckin sorry for what she did, there should be no issue. Plain and simple.” 

“Yeah, that would be nice right now considering rent’s due tomorrow.” Ian remembered. 

Mickey puffed the smoke from his cussing mouth like an angry dragon. “Ah fuck!” He shouted. “God dammnit. I completely forgot about that shit.” He itched the back of his neck again, looking panicked.

“It’s fine,” Ian reassured him. “Even without her money we can make it. I think…” 

Mickey was sitting on the edge of the bed shaking his head in disappointment, a look of worry morphing his facial features.

Ian rubbed his back affectionately. “You know, we wouldn’t have to stress so much and be so freaked about last minute bills if we had a little more money to fall back on…”

Mickey nodded his head. “Yeah, no shit.” He glanced at him, his eyebrows furrowed suddenly. “And what are you getting at?” He snapped.

“I mean when I was dancing I made a shit ton of money. Lots of fuckin money, Mick. It would be good for us.” He explained.

Mickey was already scoffing, folding his hands over his face and pulling on his cheeks. “Jesus fucking Christ. Will you come off of that already?!” He pleaded.

“I’m just saying it’s in our best interest! Wouldn’t it be nice not to flip out over money? Pay the bills ahead of time? Not have to constantly—”

“Yeah but if that means fat pervy queens are grabbing at your ass I’d rather be broke!” He cried.

He rolled his eyes. “Mick, I wouldn’t let anyone touch me. You really think I’d let that happen? You need to give me a chance… Everyone who works in that club knows I’m fuckin whipped for you.” He reasoned.

He was still rejecting the idea. 

“Look,” He said finally as he handed him the cigarette which was nearly down to the filter. “One fuckin problem at a time, okay? I can only deal with so much shit. Let’s get out there and talk to the one eyed Soviet in our living room before we consider getting your half naked ass on my stage, alright?’ He asked.

Ian stood up, showing him the door. “After you.”

*****

“10 thousand dollars?” Svetlana repeated.

Mickey was standing over her, his arms folded with one hand out as if she would give him the cash that very second.

“Yep. Pay up or get out.” He said sharply. 

Ian stood beside him awkwardly like a cheesy movie sidekick, but he remained serious. 

“Damn.” Tosha said as she flipped the channel on the TV but was watching them intensely.

Iggy and Mandy seemed to be unphased by the whole situation as they were both smoking cigarettes, staring into their phones. The only other person in the room was Yevgeny who was sitting on his mother’s lap, staring up at Ian with big, unforgiving eyes.

“Fine.” She said confidently. “I will give you deposit money tomorrow, but we move in tonight. I start getting paperwork sorted tomorrow. Do we have deal?” 

Mickey shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “Yeah, fine, whatever.”

“Any funny shit and you’re out of the deal, Svetlana. Your ass is out and on a boat back to Russia. Do you understand?” Ian leaned down to her level.

“Understood.” She hissed. 

“Fuck.” Mickey muttered as he seemed to realize what was happening. “And by the way, if everyone thinks this is gonna be some big fuckin free for all where you mooch off our shit, you got another thing coming. You motherfuckers gotta pull some weight around here. Even you, 15 and pregnant.” He nodded towards Tosha who gave him a dirty look. “Time to pay some bills--”

“Which ones?” Svetlana interrupted. “Bills from stack on kitchen table or stack in back room?” 

Mickey gave her a sinister look. She licked her lips and smiled shyly. He nor Ian seemed to find it amusing.

“I gave her the tour.” Tosha chimed in as if she was being helpful.

“Fantastic.” Ian snapped in sarcasm.

“ _Prazdnik!_ ” Svetlana shouted, clapping her hands together. 

“What?” Ian stared at her, confused as ever.

“A celebration!” She answered excitedly. “You, Mikhailo, and me. Vodka. Deck of cards. We drink!” She was exuberated. He sighed apprehensively, pulling out his phone to check the time. It was nearly one in the morning, and in just four short hours he had to be up for work. Vodka shots sounded like risky business.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for all that.” Mickey said, looking hopelessly exhausted.

“Psh. _Yerunda._ ” She replied, flinging her wrist loosely. “You drink like thirsty fish. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

“Speaking of eyes,” Ian started. “You should pour some vodka on _that_. You need to go see a fucking doctor. You could lose an eye.” He pointed to her bubbling, blistering wound.

She shrugged, flinging her wrist again. “There are worse things. Less ugliness to see in the world.”

Ian knew Svetlana was crazy, but she did have a point with that statement. He took a deep breath, inhaling as he felt a yawn creep from his chest. Sleep was upon him. Before he headed to bed, he gave Mickey an approval nod to go ahead and have a good time, not that he really needed to. He wanted him to have a stress-free, relaxing night and if that meant pounding shots of strong vodka with his ex-wife then so be it.

*****

The next morning was already off to a hectic start. Ian snoozed his alarm more times than he should have and discovered he had done absolutely no laundry in the last week so an already worn shirt and pair of jeans were the outfit of choice. Not only was he chaotically scrambling around the apartment trying to get out the door on the time, but he also had to wake Tosha, get her ready and into the car so he could drop her off at a different entrance for group that morning. He made his way into the living room where he was caught off guard by what he saw. Svetlana was passed out in the recliner, a string of drool hanging from her mouth and her one unscathed eye was clouded with smeared makeup as if she had been crying. They were both surrounded by balled up, used tissues. Did they have some sort of drunken heart-to-heart? Mickey looked no better, sprawled out on the side of the coffee table without socks on, still gripping the almost empty bottle of Stolichnaya, a Russian brand vodka that only Svetlana drank. Clearly she had some on hand. He approached the table, gently grasping the bottle and taking it from his tight grip. He shook him lightly. Instantly he snorted, startled as he squinted at the overhead light which was left on all night. 

“Shit…” He muttered, rubbing his face. 

“Come on, babe.” Ian rubbed his back. “Get into bed. Do you need help?” 

He wasn’t sure if he was fully coherent but he seemed to be able to walk on his own, stumbling as he headed for their bedroom. 

Tosha was on the couch looking equally as rough as the other two, minus the alcohol consumption. He reached over and shook her arm. She rolled the other way, grunting in tired agony. 

“Tosha, get up!” Ian whispered. He was attempting to be quiet. “We have to leave the house in an hour. Let’s go!” He nudged her again and she sat up suddenly. She was mumbling something to herself, but he couldn’t make out the words. “Go get in the shower.” He insisted.

“I don’t wanna take a shower!” She yelled, slamming her fists like a tempered five year old.

“SHHH! You’ve been on this couch for three days, you’re getting in the damn shower!” Ian ripped off her blankets. He wasn’t in the mood for any type of teenage nonsense this morning.

She didn’t say anything more but stood up and stomped aggressively towards the hallway. A few seconds later he heard the water running.

He smiled. _Small victories._ He thought.

*****

Work was insanely unbearable, and Ian’s head was going to explode if he had to stay even a single minute past his shift. During his first group meeting one of his students had an epileptic seizure and was hauled off to the hospital by ambulance. He was supposed to be taking his meds but apparently his mom was no longer paying for his prescription. He also had two reports of domestic violence which had to be documented, followed by a thirty-minute lockdown after an air soft gun was found in some delinquent’s backpack. On top of the chaos, Ian had to put on a lying face and pretend he didn’t have Tosha crashing on his couch for so many days now. He was completely beat and wanted nothing more than a good night’s sleep after his meds kicked in. Both him and Tosha made their way up the apartment stairs, walking like two half-dead zombies. She must have joined in on the party with the others last night as Ian suspected. 

He inserted his key into the door and pushed it open with every bit of energy he had left in him. He was surprised to walk into a nearly spotless apartment, a far cry from the condition he had left it in earlier that morning. Even the blankets Tosha had been using were neatly folded on the couch, and the coffee table was polished giving it a glossy shine. Svetlana was sitting at the dining room table, her thick black framed glasses scooted down the bridge of her nose, reading some sort of bill. She noticed their presence and smiled sweetly. He looked beyond the table and was surprised to see that a few stacks of papers seemed to be organized and somewhat sorted. As much as it bothered him to have her sitting in his house none the less reading their bank statements, it was quite a relieving sight to see some clearing on the tabletop. He may have forgotten it had a nice charcoal finish. 

Mandy and Iggy were absent again. Hopefully Iggy was working and Mandy was out looking for some since Mickey laid down the law pretty clearly about everyone pitching in their share financially. Unfortunately following any type of authority wasn’t really the Milkovich’s style, so Ian wouldn’t be shocked if the two came home shit-faced but he figured it was best to think positively. 

He was just about to head to the fridge to grab a beer when Mickey suddenly appeared from the dark hallway, flipping his engraved pocket knife between his fingers. Before Ian could even make it to the kitchen he was stopped dead in his tracks, studying his boyfriend from head to toe. He was wearing dark washed straight leg jeans, a grey v-neck tee and a black peacoat, one he had helped him pick out when winter started. He smelled heavenly, and the sent was strong enough to pull Ian in closer. His hair was perfectly styled, jelled back smoothly just the way he liked it. It was in that very moment that all the stressors from the day’s events seemed to dissipate completely as soon as he laid eyes on him. He sighed in wonder as he continued to stare, not able to look away…

When Mickey noticed he was standing before him he smiled instantaneously, walking over to him and putting his hands around his waist. It was such a secure feeling and there was nothing that compared to it.

“Hey, baby.” His smile grew wider as he greeted him.

“Hi.” Ian kissed him on the side of his neck, inhaling his aroma before breaking away. He had always loved the way he smelled. As soon as he realized why he was dressed in such an impressive get-up, a small knot of loneliness filled in the pit of his stomach and it was difficult to hide a frown. Mickey would be on his way to work shortly, and Ian would be sitting at home doing absolutely nothing. He knew he was more than welcome to come with, but staying at the club until closing meant he would only get an hour of sleep for work the next day. His pouting must have been noticeable as Mickey looked concerned.

“What’s wrong?” He asked as he traced his hand slowly down his back, then back up it. 

He smiled weakly, trying to hide his disappointment. “Nothing.” He shrugged. “Just gonna miss you.”

Mickey smiled again. “You know you can—”

“I know,” Ian interrupted. “I know. I want to but I’m just fuckin beat.”

Mickey nodded, still rubbing his back comfortingly. “You look beat. Get some sleep. You need it.”

He was right. Ian did need to catch up on some much-needed rest. The thought of his bed seemed to sway him into staying. 

Once Mickey was finally ready to head out the door, they said their goodbyes and Ian tried his hardest not to look like a sad puppy being abandoned for the night. Svetlana was sitting at the table still, whispering madly in Russian. Tosha settled on the couch flipping through the TV. It was a quiet a night.

Within five minutes of Mickey being gone, Ian’s phone buzzed from his pocket. Could he be calling him already? He pulled it out only to realize it was Manny. 

“Hello?” He answered.

“Sweetie,” He was barely able to hear over the loud crowd in the background. “Is your man on his way?” He asked desperately.

“Yeah, Manny he just left. He should be there in 20 or so.”

“Oh thank god.” He said, obviously relieved.

“Everything alright?” Ian asked curiously.

“The sound system crashed again. This is the third fucking time this month. I called Billy, he’s on his way over. I got a club full of pissed off twinks who wanna shake their ass!” He exclaimed. “Gotta go, hun.” _Click._

As soon as Ian heard the name he felt a shiver in his spine and his whole body tensed up, the sudden cringe causing his teeth to grind together. He cussed loudly, not even attempting to be subtle. Billy was the club’s tech guy who fixed anything electronic that broke down in the joint. Whether it was the tables, the speakers or the strobe lighting, Billy was always there to fix it. It didn’t matter what time of day it was, he was there within 10 minutes of the phone call. Normally this would be considered just a simple good service, being punctual, but not to Ian.

Billy wanted Mickey’s dick, and he knew it. 

He was an attractive man which Ian was very aware of. He was almost his same height, and had long, dirty blond curly hair which he flipped out of his face obnoxiously every minute or so. He had big, round green eyes surrounded by a row of thick black eyelashes. He was somewhat tan and wore jeans that were a few sizes too small, making the area around his package noticeably tight. He also had a single earring in his right ear. A small diamond that screamed ‘gay boy’ in more ways than one. An image of his creepy, flirtatious smile whenever he came near Mickey unavoidably entered his head and just the thought of it was making Ian’s temperature rise. It seemed lately that things were breaking left and right at the club, that nothing was ever quite ‘repaired’ since Billy had to be called every other week to come back in and fix it again. Ian even attempted to do some of the repairs himself, explaining to Mickey it would save money when in reality, it was to keep Billy far far away.

He tried warning Mickey that he was a threat, that Ian didn’t like his smug demeanor and he just wanted to earn a one-way ticket into his pants, but he brushed it off and didn’t think it was problem. Ian trusted his man, and trusted that he would be loyal no matter what, but Mickey wasn’t exactly what he was worried about. Every time he was present when Billy came in to make another so-called repair, he would annoyingly boast about his new boat parked in the marina downtown and even went to the lengths of inviting Mickey on it without him. There had been more than a few occasions where Ian felt he was totally and completely out of line with his flirty remarks. Mickey was good at shrugging it off and playing stupid but it was still so painfully obvious that it made Ian extremely uncomfortable. He came more than close to crossing some boundaries and if it finally reached that point, Ian didn’t know how he could hold back. 

He did know that his idea of a quiet evening was now compromised. He stared at the clock on the cable box, comparing how long he would stay, or rather, when Billy would wrap up his ‘work’ and leave for the evening. He really didn’t care much how long it would take but he knew he didn’t want his boyfriend there alone with him, not even for a second, and would do everything in his power to keep him away from him. Besides, Mickey was probably a walking shitshow without any music in his club to satisfy the customers and he figured he could try and relax him. He huffed loudly, jumping from his seat on the couch where he thought he would planted for the rest of the night. Svetlana seemed to notice his impatience as she turned towards him, removing her glasses.

“What is wrong?” Not even her accent masked her nosey tone.

Ian didn’t look at her. Before he could respond Tosha was already beating him to the punch.

“Who’s Billy?” She asked from the recliner seat, stuffing her face with Cheez-It’s.

“No one- How did you hear that?” 

She shuffled another handful in her mouth. “That guy was basically screaming on the phone. I heard every word.” She said simply.

“That’s great…” Ian whispered.

“Who is this Billy?” Svetlana questioned him again. “Let me guess, attractive man who hits on your husband, yes?”

Ian still didn’t meet her glance but he was sure he was blushing. “Maybe.” He admitted. Mickey wasn’t his husband yet, but he held back on correcting her. It almost pissed him off that she already analyzed the situation on the drop of a dime but he didn’t have time to get mad. He had to start getting ready and head to the L.

“You are going there?” She asked, the questions starting to irritate him.

“Yep…” He answered, trying to walk away from them.

“Damn, jealous much?” Tosha smirked.

He turned towards her, pointing down to where she was sitting. “I’d keep your lip zipped if you know what’s good for you.” His tone was bitter. She recoiled back in her seat and went back to flipping channels.

“I will come too. I want to see this club for myself. See husband in action.” She slammed her pen on the table. “You watch Yevgeny?”

Tosha nodded, still stuffing her face.

“What?” Ian looked at her in annoyance. “No, you stay here.”

“No, I go.” She insisted. She reached for a set of keys from the table, jingling them as if she was dangling a carrot. “You don’t want to walk in the cold and freeze your balls off, do you? We take my car.”

Ian didn’t want her tagging along but the offer of driving in a heated car instead of walking to catch the L in the crisp, icy cold was a deal breaker for him. He saw the silver shiny Mercedes emblem on the key ring gleaming in the light and was easily convinced.

 *****

He knew he was on a time crunch but still put in massive effort to look nice. He couldn’t possibly half-ass his appearance. He spritzed some cologne on and headed for the door where he found Svetlana who was bent over the arm of the chair putting on her last red hooker pump. When she stood up, Ian studied her outfit. She was wearing a tight, royal blue cocktail dress with some type of fake costume earring and necklace set, accompanied by a mink coat and hat to match.

“Jesus, you know it’s a gay bar right?” Ian asked. He looked at her for a few seconds before suddenly regretting his tone. Her eye still looked horrific and he felt bad for her as he watched her put in so much effort to look presentable to her standards. He had an idea. 

“Come here.” He motioned her down the hallway where she followed him into the guest bathroom. He found some Neosporin in the cabinet and squeezed a dime sized amount on his fingertip. She looked apprehensive as he came near her eye with the ointment. 

“Oh relax, I’m not gonna bite.”

He began applying it to her eye and the second he touched she was wincing in obvious pain, cussing in Russian.

“This shit is infected. You need to go to the doctor.” He kept repeating it, but he had a feeling it was falling upon deaf ears. “Hold on a second. Here,” He squeezed more from the tube onto her finger. “Keep putting this on.” He left the room for a few seconds until he returned. “Put this on.”

“You have eye patch on hand? You and Mikhailo fuck like pirates?” She roared in laughter.

He tried to hold back but a small chuckle escaped. “No. Costume party a while back. Wear it. It’ll keep bacteria out.”

“Now I really look like hell.” She put it on, adjusting it in the mirror as she worked it into her hair much like a headband.

He knew she was making a joke out of the whole thing, but Ian still felt sorry for her. He could tell she was in extreme pain.

Before heading out the door he checked and made sure Yevgeny was settled in the spare bedroom. He was tucked into bed sleeping soundly, looking especially cozy. Ian yawned at the sight of him, still insanely tired. He and Svetlana finally left, locking the door behind them and heading into the chilly streets of downtown Chicago.

\-----

*Russian Language Key*  
Prazdnik = Celebration  
Yerunda = Nonsense


End file.
